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O'" -N. ,'K7'2-. ''^ I I * _5A£Ni^ ^ *1 







The Way of an Eagle 


By E. M. DELL 

D 

Author of 

‘‘THE KNAVE OF DIAMONDS/’ Etc. 



A. L. BURT COMPANY 

Publishers New York 


V) 

\c 


.■1 






COPY^GHT, 1910 
BY 

ETHEL M. DELL 

All rights reserved 




1 / ' 


By Ethbl M. Dbll 


Twe Way of an Eagle 
Th«» Knave of Diamonds 
The Rocks of Valpr6 
The Swindler 
The Keeper of the Door 
Bars of Iron 
Rosa Mundi 
The Obstacle Race 


Tetherstones 


The Hundredth Chance 
The Safety Curtain j 
Greatheart 

The Lamp in the Desert I 
The Tidal Wave 
The Top of the World 
The Odds and Other Stories 
Charles Rex 

.j1 


This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London 


'Cbc TFtnfcbcrbocftcr press, IRcw Igorli 

Made in the United States of America 


CONTENTS 


PART I 

CHAPTER PAGB 


I. — ^The Trust 

• 


• 

• 

I 

II. — A Soldier’s Daughter 

• 


• 

• 

8 

III. — ^The Victim of Treachery 


* 

• 

15 

IV. — Desolation 

• 


• 

• 

30 

V. — The Devil in the Wilderness 


• 

• 

39 

VI. — ^When Strong Men Fail 

• 


• 

• 

48 

VII. — ^The Coming of an Army 

PART II 

• 


• 

• 

56 

VIII. — Comrades 



• 

• 

6S 

rX. — T he School of Sorrow 



• 

• 

71 

X. — ^The Eagle Swoops . 



# 

• 

77 

XI. — ^The First Flight . 



• 

• 

83 

XII. — The Message . 



• 

• 

89 

XlII. — The Voice of a Friend 



• 

• 

95 

XTV. — ^The Poison of Adders 



• 

• 

100 

XV.— The Summons . 



• 

• 

III 

XVI. — ^The Ordeal . 

iii 



• 

• 

115 


Iv 


Contents 


PART III 

CHAPTER 

XVII. — An Old Friend 
XVIII. — The Explanation . 
XIX.--A Hero Worshipper 

XX. — News from the East 

XXI. — ^A Harbour of Refuge 

XXII.— An Old Story 
XXIII. — The Sleep Called Death 

XXIV. — ^The Creed of a Fighter 

XXV. — ^A Scented Letter . 

XXVI. — ^The Eternal Flame 
XXVH. — The Eagle Caged . « 

XXVIII. — ^The Lion’s Skin 

XXIX. — Old Friends Meet 

XXX. — ^An Offer of Friendship . 

XXXI. — ^The Eagle Hovers 

PART IV 

XXXII. — ^The Face in the Storm . 
XXXIII. — ^The Lifting of the Mask 
XXXIV. — ^At the Gate of Death . 
XXXV. — The Armistice 
XXXVI. — The Eagle Strikes . 


PAGE 

• 128 

. 136 
. 146 

. 150 
. 157 

. 165 
. 172 

. 179 

. 188 

. 195 

. 201 
^ 208 

. 214 
. 220 

. 227 

. 238 
, 244 
- 252 
. 260 
. 265 


Contents V 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXXVII. — ^The Penalty for Sentiment . . . 277 

XXXVIII. — The' Watcher of the Cliff . , . 284 

XXXIX. — By Single Combat 289 

XL. — ^The Woman's Choice .... 297 

XLI. — ^The Eagle's Prey 303 

XLII. — ^The Hardest Fight of All . . . 308 

XLIII. — ^Requiescat 316 

XLIV. — ^Love's Prisoner 324 

PART V 

XLV. — ^The Vision 328 

XLVI. — The Heart of a Man .... 334 

XLVII. — In the Name of Friendship . . . 342 

XLVIII. — ^The Healing of the Breach . . . 349 

XLIX. — ^The Lowering of the Flag . . . 353 

L. — Erebus ... ... 360 

LI. — The Bird of Paradise .... 367 

LII. — A Woman's Offering .... 373 

LIII. — ^The Last Skirmish ..... 379 

LIV. — Surrender 386 

LV. — Omnia Vincit Amor .... 392 

LVI. — ^The Eagle Soars 400 



'** ‘rhere be three things which are too wonderful 
tor me, yea, four which I know not; 

The way of an eagle in the air 5 
the way of a serpent upon a rock ; 
the way of a ship in the midst of the sea j 
and the way of a man with a maid.** 

Proverbs xxx, 1 8*1^ 


The Way of an Eagle 


PART I 


CHAPTER I 


THE TRUST 


HE long clatter of an irregular volley of musketry 



1 rattled warningly from the naked mountain 
ridges; over a great grey shoulder of rock the sun sank 
in a splendid opal glow; from very near at hand came 
the clatter of tin cups and the sound of a subdued 
British laugh. And in the room of the Brigadier-Gen- 
eral a man lifted his head from his hands and stared 
upwards with unseeing, fixed eyes. 

There was an impotent, crushed look about him as 
of one nearing the end of his strength. The lips under 
the heavy grey moustache moved a little as though 
they formed soundless words. He drew his breath 
once or twice sharply through his teeth. Finally, with 
a curious groping movement he reached out and 
struck a small hand-gong on the table in front of him- 

The door slid open instantly and an Indian soldier 
stood in the opening. The Brigadier stared full at 
him for several seconds as if he saw nothing, his lips 


Q 


THe Way of an I^a^le 


still moving secretly, silently. Then suddenly, with 
a stiff gesture, he spoke. 

"*Ask the major sahib and the two captain sahibs 
to come to me here. ’’ 

The Indian saluted and vanished like a swift-moving 
shadow. 

The Brigadier sank back into his chair, his head 
drooped forward, his hands clenched. There was 
tragedy, hopeless and absolute, in every line of 
him. 

There came the careless clatter of spurred heels and 
loosely-slung swords in the passage outside of the 
half-closed door, the sound of a stumble, a short ejacu- 
lation, and again a smothered laugh. 

^‘Confound you. Grange! Why can’t you keep 
your feet to yourself, you imgainly Triton, and give us 
poor minnows a chance?” 

The Brigadier sat upright with a jerk. It was grow- 
ing rapidly dark. 

Come in, all of you, ” he said. ” I have something 
to say. As well to shut the door, Ratcliffe, though it 
is not a council of war. ” 

There being nothing left to discuss, sir,” returned 
the voice that had laughed. '‘It is just a simple case 
of sitting tight now till Bassett comes roxmd the 
comer.” 

The Brigadier glanced up at the speaker and caught 
the last glow of the fading sunset reflected on his face. 
It was a clean-shaven face that shotdd have possessed 
a fair skin, but by reason of unfavourable circum- 
stances it was burnt to a deep yellow-brown. The 
features were pinched and wrinkled — they might have 
belonged to a very old man; but the eyes that smiled 
down into the Brigadier’s were shrewd, bright, monkey- 


The Xrvist 


$ 

I 

Kke. They expressed a cheeriness almost grotesqueo 
The two men whom he had followed into the room 
stood silent among the shadows. The gloom was such 
as could be felt. 

Suddenly, in short, painful tones the Brigadier be« 
gan to speak. 

'^Sit down,” he said. “I have sent for you to ask 
one among you to undertake for me a certain service 
which must be accomplished, but which I — ” he 
paused and again audibly caught his breath between 
his teeth — 'Vhich I— am unable to execute for my- 
self.” 

An instant’s silence followed the halting speech. 
Then the young officer who stood against the door 
stepped briskly forward. 

‘‘What ’s the job, sir? I ’ll wager my evening skilly 
I carry it through. ” 

One of the men in the shadows moved, and spoke 
in a repressive tone. “Shut up, Nick! This is no 
mess-room joke.” 

Nick made a sharp, half-contemptuous gesture. 
“A joke only ceases to be a joke when there is no one 
left to laugh, sir, ” he said. “We have n’t come to that 
at present.” 

He stood in front of the Brigadier for a moment— an 
insignificant figure but for the perpetual suggestion 
of simmering activity that pervaded him; then stepped 
behind the commanding officer’s chair, and there took 
up his stand v/ithout further words. 

The Brigadier paid no attention to him. His mind 
was fixed upon one subject only. Moreover, no one 
ever took Nick Ratcliffe seriously. It seemed a moral 
impossibility. 

“It is quite plain to me,” he said heavily at length. 


4 


THe “Way of an £.a^le 


^‘that the time has come to face the situation. I do 
not speak for the discouragement of you brave fellows. 
I know that I can rely upon each one of you to do your 
duty to the utmost. But we are bound to look at 
things as they are, and so prepare for the inevitable. I 
for one am firmly convinced that General Bassett can- 
not possibly reach us in time.’’ 

He paused, but no one spoke. The man behind 
him was leaning forward, listening intently. 

He went on with an effort. We are a mere hand- 
ful. We have dwindled to four white men among a 
host of dark. Relief is not even within a remote dis- 
tance of us» and we are already bordering upon starva- 
tion. We may hold out for three days more. And 
then” — his breath came suddenly short, but he forced 
himself to continue — have to think of my child. 
She will be in your hands. I know you will all defend 
her to the last ounce of your strength; but which of 
you” — a terrible gasping checked his utterance for 
many labouring seconds ; he put his hand over his eyes 
— ‘‘which of you,” he whispered at last, his words 
barely audible, “will have the strength to — shoot her 
before your own last moment comes?” 

The question quivered through the quiet room as 
if wrung from the twitching lips by sheer torture. It 
went out in silence — a dreadful, lasting silence in which 
the souls of men, stripped naked of human convention, 
stood confronting the first primaeval instinct of human 
chivalry. 

It continued through many terrible seconds — that 
silence, and through it no one moved, no one seemed 
to breathe. It was as if a spell had been cast upon the 
handful of Englishmen gathered there in the deepening 
darkness. 


The Tr\ist 5 

The Brigadier sat bowed and motionless at the 
table, his head sunk in his hands. 

Suddenly there was a quiet movement behind him^ 
and the spell was broken. Ratcliffe stepped deliber® 
ately forward and spoke. 

“General,’’ he said quietly, “if you will put your 
daughter in my care, I swear to you, so help me God, 
that no harm of any sort shall touch her. ” 

There was no hint of emotion in his voice, albeit the 
words were strong; but it had a curious effect upon 
those who heard it. The Brigadier raised his head 
sharply, and peered at him; and the other two officers 
started as men suddenly stumbling at an unexpected 
obstacle in a familiar road. 

One of them. Major Marshall, spoke, briefly and 
irritably, with a touch of contempt. His nerves were 
on edge in that atmosphere of despair. 

“You, Nick!” he said. “You are about the least 
reliable man in the garrison. You can’t be trusted to 
take even reasonable care of yourself. Heaven only 
knows how it is you were n’t killed long ago. It was 
thanks to no discretion on your part. You don’t 
know the meaning of the word. ” 

Nick did not answer, did not so much as seem to 
hear. He was standing before the Brigadier. His 
eyes gleamed in his alert face — two weird pin-points 
of light. 

“She will be safe with me,” he said, in a tone that 
held not the smallest shade of uncertainty. 

But the Brigadier did not speak. He still searched 
young Ratcliffe’s face as a man who views through 
field-glasses a region distant and unexplored. 

After a moment the officer who had remained silent 
throughout came forward a step and spoke. He was 


6 


TKe ‘Way of an Hagle 


a magnificent man with the physique of a Hercules. 
He had remained on his feet, impassive but observant, 
from the moment of his entrance. His voice had that 
soft quality peculiar to some big men. 

** I am ready to sell my life for Miss Roscoe’s safety, 
sir, ’’ he said. 

Nick Ratcliffe jerked his shoulders expressively, 
but said nothing. He was waiting for the General t6 
speak. As the latter rose slowly, with evident effort, 
from his chair, he thrust out a hand, as if almost 
instinctively offering help to one in sore need. 

General Roscoe grasped it and spoke at last. He 
had regained his self-command. ‘‘ Let me understand 
you, Ratcliffe,'' he said. ''You suggest that I should 
place my daughter in your charge. But I must know 
first how far you are prepared to go to ensure her safety. ' ’ 

He was answered instantly, with an unflinching 
promptitude he had scarcely expected. 

"I am prepared to go to the uttermost limit, sir, 
said Nicholas Ratcliffe, his fingers closing like springs 
upon the hand that gripped his, "if there is a limit. 
That is to say, I am ready to go through hell for her. 
I am a straight shot, a cool shot, a dead shot. Will 
you trust me?” 

His voice throbbed with sudden feeling. General 
Roscoe was watching him closely. " Can I trust you, 
Nick?” he said. 

There was an instant's silence, and the two men in 
the background were aware that something passed 
between them — a look or a rapid sign — which they did 
not witness. Then reckless and debonair came Nick's 
voice. 

"I don't know, sir. But if I am untrustworthy, 
may I die to-night!” 


THe Trvist 


1 


General Roscoe laid his free hand upon the young 
man's shoulder. 

''Is it so, Nick?” he said, and uttered a heavy sigho 
'‘Well — so be it then. I trust you.” 

"That settles it, sir,” said Nick cheerily. "The 
job is mine.” 

He turned round with a certain arrogance of bearing, 
and walked to the door. But there he stopped, look- 
ing back through the darkness at the dim figures he 
had left. 

"Perhaps you will tell Miss Roscoe that you have 
appointed me deputy-governor,” he said. "And tell 
her not to be frightened, sir. Say I 'm not such a 
bogey as I look, and that she will be perfectly safe with 
me.” His tone was half -serious, half -jocular. He 
wrenched open the door not waiting for a reply. 

"I must go back to the guns,” he said, and the 
next moment was gone, striding carelessly down the 
passage, and whistling a music-hall ballad as he went. 


CHAPTER II 


A soldier’s daughter 

I N the centre of the little frontier fort there was a 
room which one and all of its defenders regarded 
as sacred. It was an insignificant chamber, narrow as 
a prison cell and almost as bare; but it was the safest 
place in the fort. In it General Roscoe’s daughter — 
the only white woman in the garrison — had dwelt safely 
since the beginning of that dreadful siege. 

Strictly forbidden by her father to stir from her 
refuge without his express permission, she had dragged 
out the long days in close captivity, living in the midst 
of nerve-shattering tumult but taking no part therein. 
She was little more than a child, and accustomed to 
render implicit obedience to the father she idolised, or 
she had scarcely been persuaded to submit to this 
rigorous seclusion. It would perhaps have been better 
for her physically and even mentally to have gone out 
and seen the horrors which were being daily enacted 
all around her. She had at first pleaded for at least 
a limited freedom, urging that she might take her part 
in caring for the wounded. But her father had refused 
this request with such decision that she had never re- 
peated it. And so she had seen nothing while hearing 
much, lying through many sleepless nights with nerves 
strung to a pitch of torture far more terrible than any 
bodily exhaustion, and vivid imagination ever at work 
S 


A Soldier’s Daxi^Kter 


9 


upon pictures more ghastly than even the ghastly 
reality which she was not allowed to see. 

The strain was such as no human frame could have 
endured for long. Her strength was beginning to 
break down under it. The long sleepless nights were 
more than she could bear. And there came a time 
when Muriel Roscoe, driven to extremity, sought relief 
in a remedy from which in her normal senses she 
would have turned in disgust. 

It helped her, but it left its mark upon her — a mark 
which her father must have noted, had he not been 
almost wholly occupied with the burden that weighed 
him down. Morning and evening he visited her, yet 
failed to read that in her haunted eyes which could not 
have escaped a clearer vision. 

Entering her room two hours after his interview 
with his officers regarding her, he looked at her search- 
ingly indeed, but without understanding. She lay 
among cushions on a charpoy of bamboo in the light 
of a shaded lamp. Young and slight and angular, 
with a pale little face of utter weariness, with great 
dark eyes that gazed heavily out of the black shadows 
that ringed them round, such was Muriel Roscoe. 
Her black hair was simply plaited and gathered up at 
the neck. It lay in cloudy masses about her temples — 
wonderful hair, quite lustreless, so abundant that it 
seemed almost too much for the little head that bore 
it. She did not rise at her father’s entrance. She 
scarcely raised her eyes. 

'*So glad you ’ve come. Daddy,” she said, in a soft, 
low voice. ^‘I’ve been wanting you. It’s nearly 
bedtime, is n’t it?” 

He went to her, treading lightly. His thoughts 
had been all of her for the past few hours and in conse- 


lO 


The "Way of an Eagle 


quence he looked at her more critically than usual. 
For the first time he was struck by her pallor, her look 
of deathly weariness. On the table near her lay a 
plate of boiled rice piled high in a snowy pyramid. He 
saw that it had not been touched. 

^^Why, child,’’ he said, a sudden new anxiety at his 
heart '' you have had nothing to eat. You ’re not ill? ” 

She roused herself a little, and a very faint colour 
crept into her white cheeks. ‘'No, dear, only tired — • 
too tired to be hungry,” she told him. “That rice 
is for you.” 

He sat down beside her with a sound that was 
almost a groan. “You must eat something, child,” 
he said. “Being penned up here takes away your 
appetite. But all the same you must eat.” 

She sat up slowly, and pushed back the heavy hair 
from her forehead with a sigh. 

“Very well. Daddy,” she said submissively. “But 
you must have some too, dear. I could n’t possible 
eat it all.” 

Something in his attitude or expression seemed to 
strike her at this point, and she made a determined 
effort to shake off her lethargy. A spoon and fork lay 
by the plate. She handed him the former and kept 
the latter for herself. 

“We ’ll have a picnic. Daddy,” she said, with a 
wistful little smile. “ I told ayah always to bring two 
plates, but she has forgotten. We don’t mind, though, 
do we?” 

It was childishly spoken, but the pathos of it went 
straight to the man’s heart. He tasted the rice under 
her watching eyes and pronounced it very good ; then 
waited for her to follow his example which she did 
with a slight shudder. 


A Soldier*s DaxigKter 


II 


** Delicious, Daddy, is n’t it?” she said. And even 
he did not guess what courage underlay the words. 

They kept up the farce till the pyramid was some- 
what reduced; then by mutual consent they suffered 
their ardour to flag. There was a faint colour in the 
girl’s thin face as she leaned back again. Her eyes 
were brighter, the lids drooped less. 

had a dream last night. Daddy, ” she said, ^'such 
a curious dream, and so vivid. I thought I was out on 
the mountains with some one. I don’t know who it 
was, but it was some one very nice. It seemed to be 
very near the sunrise, for it was quite bright up above, 
though it was almost dark where we stood. And, do 
you know — don’t laugh. Daddy, I know it was only a 
silly dream — when I looked up, I saw that everywhere 
the mountains were full of horses and chariots of fire. 
I felt so safe. Daddy, and so happy. I could have 
cried when I woke up.” 

She paused. It was rather difficult for her to make 
conversation for the silent man who sat beside her so 
gloomy and preoccupied. Save that she loved her 
father as she loved no one else on earth, she might have 
felt awed in his presence. 

As it was, receiving no response, she turned to look, 
and the next instant was on her knees beside him, her 
thin young arms clinging to his neck. 

'‘Daddy, darling, darling!” she whispered, and hid 
her face against him in sudden, nameless terror. 

He clasped her to him, holding her close, that she 
might not again see his face and the look it wore. She 
began to tremble, and he tried to soothe her with 
his hand, but for many seconds he could find no 
Words. 

“What is it, Daddy?” she whispered at last, unable 


12 


XHe Way of an Ha^I 


to endure the silence longer. Won't you tell me? I 
can be very brave. You said so yourself. " 

‘"Yes," he said. ''You will be a brave girl, ’"I 
know." His voice quivered and he paused to steady 
it. "Muriel," he said then, "I don't know if you 
have ever thought of the end of all this. There will 
be an end, you know. I have had to face it to-night." 

She looked up at him quickly, but he was ready for 
her. He had banished from his face the awful despair 
that he carried in his soul. 

"When Sir Reginald Bassett comes — " she began 
uncertainly. 

He put his hand on her shoulder. "You will try 
not to be afraid, " he said. " I am going to treat you, 
as I have treated my officers, with absolute candour. 
We shall not hold out more than three days more. 
Sir Reginald Bassett will not be here in time." 

He stopped. Muriel uttered not a word. Her face 
was still upturned, and her eyes had suddenly grown 
intensely bright, but he read no shrinking in them. 

With an effort he forced himself to go on. "I may 
not be able to protect you when the end comes. I may 
not even be with you. But — there is one man upon 
whom you can safely rely whatever happens, who will 
give himself up to securing your safety alone. He has 
sworn to me that you shall not be taken, and I know 
that he will keep his word. You will be safe with him, 
Muriel. You may trust him as long as you live. He 
will not fail you. Perhaps you can guess his name?" 

He asked the question with a touch of curiosity in 
the midst of his tragedy. That upturned, listening 
face had in it so little of a woman's understanding, so 
much of the deep wonder of a child. 

Her answer was prompt and confident, and albeit 


j\ Soldier’s Daw^Hter 


13 


her very lips were white, there was a faint hint of satis- 
faction in her voice as she made it. 

'^Captain Grange, of course. Daddy.*’ 

He started and looked at her narrowly. ‘^No, no!” 
he said. '‘Not Grange! What should make you 
think of him?” 

He saw a look of swift disappointment, almost of 
consternation, darken her eyes. For the first time her 
lips quivered uncertainly. 

"Who then. Daddy? Not — not Mr. Ratcliffe?” 

He bent his head. "Yes, Nick Ratcliffe. I have 
placed you in his charge. He will take care of you.” 

"Young Nick Ratcliffe!” she said slowly. "Why, 
Daddy, he can’t even take care of himself yet. Every 
one says so. Besides” — a curiously womanly touch 
crept into her speech — "I don’t like him. Only the 
other day I heard him laugh at something that was 
terrible — something it makes me sick to think of. 
Indeed, Daddy, I would far rather have Captain 
Grange to take care of me. Don’t you think he would 
if you asked him? He is so much bigger and stronger, 
and — and kinder.” 

"Ah! I know,” her father said. "He seems so 
to you. But it is nerve that your protector will need, 
child; and Ratcliffe possesses more nerve than all the 
rest of the garrison put together. No, it must be Rat- 
cliffe, Muriel. And remember to give him all your 
trust, all your confidence. For whatever he does will 
be with my authority — with my — full — approval.” 

His voice failed suddenly and he rose, turning sharply 
away from the light. She clung to his arm silently, 
in a passion of tenderness, though she was far from 
understanding the suffering those last words revealed. 
She had never seen him thus moved before. 


The of an Ela^le 


14 

After a few seconds he turned back to her, and bend- 
ing kissed her piteous face. She clung closely to him 
with an agonised longing to keep him mth her; but 
he put her gently from him at last. 

'‘Lie down again, dear, ” he said, “and get what rest 
you can. Try not to be frightened at the noise. 
There is sure to be an assault, but the fort will hold 
to-night.” 

He stood a moment, looking down at her. Then 
again he stooped and kissed her. “Good-bye, my 
darling, ” he said huskily, “till we meet again!” 

And so hurriedly, as if not trusting himself to remain 
longer, he left her. 


CHAPTER III 


THE VICTIM OF TREACHERY 

T here came again the running rattle of rifle-firing 
from the valley below the fort, and Muriel Ros- 
coe, lying on her couch, pressed both hands to her 
eyes and shivered. It seemed impossible that the end 
could be so near. She felt as if she had existed for 
years in this living nightmare of many horrors, had 
lain down and had slept with that dreadful sound in 
her ears from the very beginning of things. The life 
she had led before these ghastly happenings had be- 
come so vague a memory that it almost seemed to be- 
long to a previous existence, to an earlier and a happier 
era. As in a dream she now recalled the vision of her 
English school-life. It lay not a year behind her, but 
she felt herself to have changed so fimdamentally 
since those sunny, peaceful days that she seemed to be 
a different person altogether. The Muriel Roscoe 
of those days had been a merry, light-hearted person- 
ality. She had revelled in games and all outdoor 
amusements. Moreover, she had been quick to learn, 
and her lessons had never caused her any trouble. A 
daring sprite she had been, with a most fertile imagin- 
ation and a longing for adventure that had never been 
fully satisfied, possessing withal so tender and loving 
a heart that the very bees in the garden had been 
among her cherished friends. She remembered all the 

15 


i6 


The Way of an f^a^le 


sunny ideals of that golden time and marvelled at 
herself, forgetting utterly the eager, even passionate, 
craving that had then been hers for the wider life, the 
broader knowledge, that lay beyond her reach, forget- 
ting the feverish impatience with which she had longed 
for the day of her emancipation when she might join 
her father in the wonderful glowing East which she so 
often pictured in her dreams. Of her mother she had 
no memory. She had died at her birth. Her father 
was all the world to her; and when at last he had 
travelled home on a brief leave and taken her from 
her quiet English life to the strange, swift existence 
of the land of his exile, her soul had overflowed with 
happiness. 

Nevertheless, she had not been carried away by the 
gaieties of this new world. The fascinations of dance 
and gymkhana had not caught her. The joy of being 
with her father was too sacred and too precious to be 
foregone for these lesser pleasures, and she very speedily 
decided to sacrifice all social entertainments to which 
he could not accompany her. She rode with him, 
camped with him, and became his inseparable com- 
panion. Undeveloped in many ways, shy in the pre- 
sence of strangers, she soon forgot her earlier ambition 
to see the world and all that it contained. Her father's 
society was to her all-sufficing, and it was no sacrifice 
to her to withdraw herself from the gay crowd and 
dwell apart with him. 

He had no wish to monopolise her, but it was a 
relief to him that the constant whirl of pleasure about 
her attracted her so little. He liked to have her with 
him, and it soon became a matter of course that she 
should accompany him on all his expeditions. She 
revelled in his tours of inspection. They were so many 


THe Victim of XreacHery 17 

picnics to her, and she enjoyed them with the zest of 
a child. 

And so it came to pass that she was with him among 
the hills of the frontier when, like a pent flood sud- 
denly escaping, the storm of rebellion broke and seethed 
about them, threatening them with total annihilation. 

No serious trouble had been anticipated. A certain 
tract of country had been reported unquiet, and Gen- 
eral Roscoe had been ordered to proceed thither on a 
tour of inspection and also, to a very mild degree, of 
intimidation. Marching through the district from 
fort to fort, he had encountered no shadow of opposi- 
tion. All had gone well. And then, his work over, 
and all he set out to do satisfactorily accomplished, 
his face towards India and his back to the mountain's, 
the unexpected had come upon him like a thunderbolt. 

Hordes of tribesmen, gathered Heaven knew how 
or whence, had suddenly burst upon him from the 
south, had cut off his advance by sheer immensity of 
numbers, and, hemming him in, had forced him gradu- 
ally back into the mountain fastnesses through which 
he had just passed unmolested. 

It was a stroke so wholly new, so subtly executed, 
that it had won success almost before the General had 
realised the weight of the disaster that had come upon 
him. He had believed himself at first to be involved 
in a mere fray with border thieves. But before he 
reached the fort upon which he found himself obliged 
to fall back, he knew that he had to cope with a general 
rising of the tribes, and that the means at his disposal 
were as inadequate to stem the rising flood of rebellion 
as a pebble thrown into a mountain stream to check 
its flow. 

The men under his command, with the exception 


i8 


THe Way of an Ca^le 


of a few officers, were all native soldiers, and he soon 
began to have a strong suspicion that among these he 
numbered traitors. Nevertheless, he established him- 
self at the fort, determined there to make his stand till 
relief should arrive. 

The telegraph wires were cut, and for a time it 
seemed that all communication with the outside world 
was an impossibility. Several runners were sent out, 
but failed to break through the besieging forces. But 
at last after many desperate days there came a message 
from without — a scrap of paper attached to a stone and 
flung over the wall of the fort at night. News of the 
disaster had reached Peshawur, and Sir Reginald 
Bassett, with a hastily collected force, was moving to 
their assistance. 

The news put heart into the garrison, and for a time 
it seemed that the worst would be averted. But it 
became gradually evident to General Roscoe that the 
relieving force could not reach them in time. The 
water supply had run very low, and the men were al- 
ready subsisting upon rations that were scarcely suffi- 
cient for the maintenance of life. There was sickness 
among them, and there were also me y wounded. 
The white men were reduced to for r , indue ing himself, 
the native soldiers had begun to desert, and he had 
been forced at last to face the fact that the end was 
very near. 

All this had Muriel Roscoe come through, physically 
scathless, mentally torn and battered, and she could 
not bring herself to realise that the long-drawn-out 
misery of the siege could ever be over. 

Lying there, tense and motionless, she listened to 
the shots and yells in the distance with a shuddering 
sense that it was all a part of her life, of her very being. 


Xhe Victim of XreacKery 19 

even. The torture and the misery had so eaten into 
her soul. Now and then she heard the quick thunder 
of one of the small guns that armed the fort, and at the 
sound her pulses leaped and quivered. She knew that 
the ammunition was running very low. These guns 
did not often speak now. 

Then, during a lull, there came to her the careless 
humming of a British voice, the free, confident tread 
of British feet, approaching her door. 

She caught her breath as a hand rapped smartly 
upon the panel. She knew who the visitor was, but 
she could not bring herself to bid him enter. A sudden 
awful fear was upon her. She could neither speak nor 
move. She lay, Hstening intently, hoping against hope 
that he would believe her to be sleeping and go away. 

The knock was not repeated. Dead silence reigned. 
And then quickly and decidedly the door opened, and 
Nick Ratcliffe stood upon the threshold. The light 
struck full upon his face as he halted — a clever, whim- 
sical face that might mask almost any quality good or 
bad. 

^*May I come in. Miss Roscoe?” he asked. 

For she "^?d not moved at his appearance. She 
lay as one Jiead. <7^ut as he spoke she uncovered her 
face, and terror incarnate stared wildly at him from her 
starting eyes. He entered without fiurther ceremony, 
and closed the door behind him. In the shaded lamp- 
light his features seemed to twitch as if he wanted to 
smile. So at least it seemed to her wrought-up fancy. 

He gazed greedily at the plate of rice on the table 
as he came forward. Great Jupiter!’’ he said. 
‘‘What a sumptuous repast!” 

The total freedom from all anxiety or restraint with 
which he made this simple observation served to re- 


20 


TKe "Way of an Eagle 


store to some degree the girl’s tottering self-control. 
She sat up, sufficiently recovered to remember that she 
did not like this man. 

'*Pray have some if you want it,” she said coldly. 

He turned his back on it abruptly. ^*No, don’t 
tempt me, ” he said. ^Ht ’s a fast day for me. I ’m 
acquiring virtue, being conspicuously destitute of all 
other forms of comfort. Why don’t you eat it yoiur- 
self? Are you acquiring virtue too?” 

He stood looking down at her quizzically, under 
rapidly flickering eyelids. She sat silent, wishing with 
all her heart that he would go away. 

Nothing, however, was apparently further from his 
thoughts. After a moment he sat down in the chair 
that her father had occupied an hour before. It was 
very close to her, and she drew herself slightly away 
with a small, instinctive movement of repugnance. 
But Nick was sublimely impervious to hints. 

say, you know,” he said abruptly, ‘^you 
should n’t take opium. Your donkey of an ayah ought 
to know better than to let 37’ou have it. ” 

Muriel gave a great start. '' I don’t — ” she faltered. 

‘H— I ” 

He shook his head at her, as though reproving a 
child. Pussy ’s out,” he observed. ''It is no good 
giving chase. But really, you know, you must n’t do it. 
You used to be a brave girl once, and now yoiu: nerves 
are all to pieces.” 

There was a species of paternal reproach in his tone. 
Looking at him, she marvelled that she had ever 
thought him yotmg and headlong. Almost in spite 
of herself she began to murmur excuses. 

"I can’t help it. I must have something. I don’t 
sleep. I lie for hours, listening to the fighting. It-^ 


THe Victim of TreacKery 21 

it 's more than I can bear. Her voice quivered, and 
she turned her face aside, unable to hide her emotion, 
but furious with herself for displaying it. 

Nick said nothing at all to comfort her, and she 
bitterly resented his silence. After a pause bespoke 
again, as if he had banished the matter entirely from 
his mind. 

''Look here,’' he said. "I want you to tell me 
something. I don’t know what sort of a fellow you 
think I am, though I fancy you don’t like me much. 
But you ’re not afraid of me, are you? You know I ’m 
to be trusted?” 

It was her single chance of revenge, and she took it. 
^'I have my father’s word for it,” she said. 

He nodded thoughtfully as if unaware of the thrust. 
‘'Yes, your father knows me. And so” — he smiled 
at her ^ddenly — "you are ready to trust me on his 
recommendation? You are ready to follow me blind- 
fold through danger if I give you my hand to 
hold?” 

She felt a sharp chill strike her heart. What was it 
he was asking of her? What did. those words of his 
portend? 

"I don’t know,” she said. "I don’t see that it 
makes much difference how I feel.” 

"Well, it does,” he assured her. "And that is 
exactly what I have come to talk about. Miss 
Roscoe, will you leave the fort with me, and escape 
in disguise? I have thought it all out, and it can oe 
done without much difficulty. I do not need to tell 
you that the idea has your father’s full approval.” 

They were her father’s own words, but at sound of 
them she shrank and shivered, in sheer horror at the 
coolness with which they were uttered. He might 


The "Way of an Ela^le 


S2 

have been asking her to stroll with him in the leafy 
quiet of some English lane. 

Could it be, she asked herself incredulously, could 
it be that her father had ever sanctioned and ap- 
proved so ghastly a risk for her? She put her hand 
to her temples. Her brain was reeling. How could 
she do this thing? How could she have permitted 
it to be even suggested to her? And then, swift 
4:hrough her tortured mind flashed his words: There 
will be an end. I have had to face it ta night. 
Was it this that he had meant? Was it for this that 
he had been preparing her? 

With a muffled exclamation she rose, trembling 
in every limb. canT!*' she cried piteously. ‘‘Oh, 
I can’t! Please go away!” 

It might have been the frightened prayer of a child, 
so beseeching was it, so full of weakness. But Nick 
Ratcliffe heard it unmoved. He waited a few seconds 
till she came to a stand by the table, her back towards 
him. Then with a sudden quiet movement he rose 
and followed her. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “But you can’t 
afford to shirk things at this stage. I am offering you 
deliverance, though you don’t realise it.” 

He spoke with force, and if his aim had been to 
rouse her to a more practical activity, he gained his 
end. She turned upon him in swift and desperate 
indignation. Her voice rang almost harsh. 

“How can you call it deliverance? It is at best a 
choice of two horrible evils. You know perfectly 
well that we could never get through. You must be 
mad to suggest such a thing. We should be made 
prisoners and massacred under the very guns of the 
fort.” 


The Victim of XreacKery 23 

beg your pardon/* he said again, and his eye- 
lids qiiivered a little as if under the pressure of some 
controlled emotion. '‘We shall not be made prisoners. 
I know what I am saying. It is deliverance that I 
am offering you. Of course you can refuse, and I 
shall still do my utmost to save you. But the chances 
are not equal. I hope you will not refuse.** 

The moderation of this speech calmed her somewhat. 
In her first wild panic she had almost imagined that 
he could take her against her will. She saw that she 
had been unreasonable, but she was too shaken to 
tell him so. Moreover, there was still that about 
him, notwithstanding liis words, that made her afraid 
to yield a single inch of ground lest by some hidden 
means he should sweep her altogether from her pre- 
carious foothold. Even in the silence, she felt that 
he was doing battle with her, and she did not dare 
to face him. 

With a childish gesture of abandonment, she 
dropped into a chair and laid her head upon her arms. 

“Oh, please go away!** she besought him weakly. 
“I am so tired — so tired. ** 

But Ratcliffe did not move. He stood looking 
down at her, at the black hair that clustered about 
her neck, at the bowed, despairing figure, the piteous, 
clenched hands. 

A little clock in the room began to strike in silvery 
tones, and he glanced up. The next instant he bent 
and laid a bony hand upon her two clasped ones. 

“Can*t you decide?** he said. “Will you let me 
decide for you? Don*t let yourself get scared. You 
have kept so strong till now.** Firmly as he spoke, 
there was somehow a note of soothing in his voice, 
and almost insensibly the girl was moved by it. 


24 


XKe of an Ea^le 


She remained silent and motionless, but the strong 
grip of his fingers comforted her subtly notwithstand- 
ing. 

'^Come,” he said, 'listen a moment and let me tell 
you my plan of campaign. It is very simple, and 
for that reason it is going to succeed. You are lis- 
tening now?” 

His tone was vigorous and insistent. Muriel sat 
slowly up in response to it. She looked down at the 
thin hand that grasped hers, and wondered at its 
strength ; but she lacked the spirit at that moment to 
resent its touch. 

He leaned down upon the table, his face close to 
hers, and began to unfold his plan. 

“We shall leave the fort directly the moon is down. 
I have a disguise for you that will conceal your face 
and hair. And I shall fake as a tribesman, so that 
my dearest friend would never recognise me. They 
will be collecting the wounded in the dark, and I 
will carry you through on my shoulder as if I had got a 
dead relation. You won’t object to playing a dead 
relation of mine?” 

He broke into a sudden laugh, but sobered instantly 
when he saw her shrink at the sound. 

“That ’s about all the plan, ” he resumed. “There 
is nothing very alarming about it, for they will never 
spot us in the dark. I ’m as yellow as a Chinaman 
already. We shall be miles away by morning. And 
I know how to find my way afterwards.” 

He paused, but Muriel made no comment. She 
was staring straight before her. 

“Can you suggest any amendments?” he asked. 

She turned her head and looked at him with newly- 
roused aversion in her eyes. She had summoned all 


THe Victim of Treachery 




her strength to the combat, realising that now 
was the moment for resistance if she meant to 
resist. 

“No, Mr. Ratcliffe, ’’ she said, with a species of 
desperate firmness very different from his own. “I 
have nothing to suggest. If you wish to escape, you 
must go alone. It is quite useless to try to persuade 
me any further. Nothing — nothing will induce me 
to leave my father. ” 

Whether or not he had expected this opposition 
was not apparent on Nick’s face. It betrayed 
neither impatience nor disappointment. 

“There would be some reason in that,” he gravely 
rejoined, “if you could do any good to your father by 
remaining. Of course I see your point, but it seems 
to me that it would be harder for him to see you starve 
with the rest of the garrison than to know that you 
had escaped with me. A woman in your position 
is bound to be a continual burden and anxiety to 
those who protect her. The dearer she is to them, 
so much the heavier is the burden. Miss Roscoe, 
you must see this. You are not an utter child. 
You must realise that to leave your father is about 
the greatest sacrifice you can make for him at the 
present moment. He is worn out with anxiety on 
your behalf, literally bowed down by it. For his 
sake, you are going to do this thing, it being the only 
thing left that you can do for him. ” 

There was more than persuasion in his voice. It 
held authority. But Muriel heard it without awe. 
She had passed that stage. The matter was too mo- 
mentous to allow of weakness. She had strung herself 
to the highest pitch of resistance as a hunted creature 
at bay. She threw back her head, a look of obstinacy 


06 


THe "Way of an £la^le 


about her lips, her slight figure straightened to the 
rigidity of defiance. 

''I will not be forced,” she said, in sharp, uneven 
tones. ^'Mr. Ratcliff e, you may go on persuading and 
arguing till doomsday. I will not leave my father. ’ ’ 

Ratcliffe stood up abruptly. A curious glitter 
shone in his eyes, and the light eyebrows twitched a 
little. She felt that he had suddenly ceased to do 
battle with her, yet that the victory was not hers. 
And for a second she was horribly frightened, as 
though an iron trap l^Sid closed upon her and held 
her at his mercy. 

He walked to the door without speaking and opened 
it. She expected him to go, sat waiting breathlessly 
for his departure, but instead he stood motionless, 
looking into the dark passage. 

She wondered with nerves on edge what he was 
waiting for. Suddenly she heard a step without, a 
few murmured words, and Nick stood on one side. 
Her father’s Sikh orderly passed him, carrying a tray 
on which was a glass full of some dark liquid. He 
set it down on the table before her with a deep salaam. 

^^The General Sahib wishes Missy Sahib to have a 
good night;” he said. ”He cannot come to her him- 
self, but he sends her this by his servant, and he bids 
her drink it and sleep.” 

Muriel looked up at the man in surprise. Her 
father had never done such a thing before, and the 
message astonished her not a little. Then, remember- 
ing that he had shown some anxiety regarding her 
appearance that evening, she fancied she began to 
understand. Yet it was strange, it was utterly 
unlike him,* to desire her to take an opiate. She 
looked at the glass with hesitation. 


TKe "Victim of TreacKery 27 

“Give him my love, Purdu, she said finally to the 
waiting orderly. “Tell him I will take it if I cannot 
sleep without.'’ 

The man bowed himself again and withdrew. To 
her disgust, however, Nick remained. He was looking 
at her oddly. 

“Miss Roscoe,” he said abruptly, “I beg you, don’t 
drink that stuff. Your father must be mad to offer 
it to you. Let me take the beastliness away.” 

She faced him indignantly. “My father knows 
what is good for me better than you do,” she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t profess to be 
a sage. But any one will tell you that it is madness 
to take opium in this reckless fashion. For Heaven’s 
sake, be reasonable. Don’t take it.” 

He came back to the table, but at his approach 
she laid her hand upon the glass. She was quivering 
with angry excitement. 

“I will not endure your interference any longer,” 
she declared, goaded to headlong, nervous fury by his 
persistence. “My father’s wishes are enough for me. 
He desires me to take it, and so I will. ” 

She took up the glass in a sudden frenzy of defiance. 
He had frightened her — yes, he had frightened her — 
but he should see how little he had gained by that. 
She took a taste of the liquid, then paused, again 
assailed by a curious hesitancy. Had her father 
really meant her to take it all? 

Nick had stopped short at her first movement, 
but as she began to lower the glass in response to 
that disquieting doubt, he swooped suddenly forward 
like a man possessed. 

For a fleeting instant she thought he was going 
to wrest it from her, but in the next she understood — • 


28 


THe of an £^a^le 


understood the man’s deep treachery, and with what 
devilish ingenuity he had worked upon her. Holding 
her with an arm that felt like iron, he forced the glass 
back between her teeth, and tilted the contents down 
her throat. She strove to resist him, strove wildly, 
frantically, not to swallow the draught. But he 
held her pitilessly. He compelled her, gripping her 
right hand with the glass, and pinning the other to 
her side. 

When it was over, when he had worked his will and 
the hateful draught was swallowed, he set her free and 
turned himself sharply from her. 

She sprang up trembling and hysterical. She could 
have slain him in that instant had she possessed the 
means to her hand. But her strength was more 
nearly exhausted than she knew. Her limbs doubled 
up under her weight, and as she tottered, seeking for 
support, she realised that she was vanquished utterly 
at last. 

She saw him wheel quickly and start to support her, 
sought to evade him, failed — and as she felt his arms 
lift her, she cried aloud in anguished helplessness. 

What followed dwelt ever after in her memory as a 
hideous dream, vivid yet not wholly tangible. He laid 
her down upon the couch and bent over her, his hands 
upon her, holding her still; for every muscle, every 
nerve twitched spasmodically, convulsively, in the in- 
stinctive effort of the powerless body to be free. She 
had a confused impression also that he spoke to her, 
but what he said she was never able to recall. In the 
end, her horror faded, and she saw him as through a 
mist bending above her, grim and tense and silent, con- 
trolling her as it were from an immense distance. And 
even while she yet dimly wondered, he passed 


THe Victim of XreacKery 29 

like a shadow from her sight, and wonder itself 
ceased. 

Half an hour later Nicholas Ratcliffe, the wit and 
clown of his regiment, regarded by many as hare- 
brained or wantonly reckless, carried away from the 
beleaguered fort among the hostile mountains the 
slight, impassive figure of an English girl. 

The night was dark, populated by terrors alive and 
ghastly. But he went through it as one unaware of its 
many dangers. Light-footed and fearless, he passed 
through the midst of his enemies, marching with the 
sublime audacity of the dominant race, despising 
caution — yea, grinning triumphant in the very face of 
Death. 


CHAPTER IV 


DESOLATION 

O UT of a deep abyss of darkness in which she 
seemed to have wandered ceaselessly and com- 
fortlessly for many days, Muriel Roscoe came halt- 
ingly back to the surface of things. She was very 
weak, so weak that to open her eyes was an exertion 
requiring all her resolution, and to keep them open 
during those first hours of returning life a physical 
impossibility. She knew that she was not alone, for 
gentle hands ministered to her, and she was constantly 
aware of some one who watched her tirelessly, with 
never-failing attention. But she felt not the smallest 
interest regarding this faithful companion, being too 
weary to care whether she lived or fell away for ever 
down those unending steeps up which some unseen in- 
fluence seemed magnetically to draw her. 

It was a stage of returning consciousness that seemed 
to last even longer than the period of her wandering, 
but this also began to pass at length. The light grew 
stronger all about her, the mists rolled slowly away 
from her clogged brain, leaving only a drowsing 
languor that was infinitely restful to her tired senses. 

And then while she lay half-dreaming and wholly 
content, a remorseless hand began to bathe her face 
and head with ice-cold water. She awoke reluctantly, 
even resentfully. 


30 


Desolation 


31 

‘‘Don’t!’’ she entreated like a child. “I ana so 
tired. Let me sleep. ” 

“My poor dear, I know all about it,” a motherly 
voice made answer. “But it 's time for you to wake. ” 

She did not grasp the words — only, very vaguely, 
their meaning; and this she made a determined, but 
quite fruitless, effort to defy. In the end, being roused 
in spite of herself, she opened her eyes and gazed 
upwards. 

And all his life long Nick Ratcliffe remembered the 
reproach that those eyes held for him. It was as if he 
had laid violent hands upon a spirit that yearned to- 
wards freedom, and had dragged it back into the sordid 
captivity from which it had so nearly escaped. 

But it was only for a moment that she looked at him 
so. The reproach faded swiftly from the dark eyes and 
he saw a startled horror dawn behind it. 

Suddenly she raised herself with a faint cry. 
“Where am I?” she gasped. “What — what have 
you done with me?” 

She stared around her wildly, with unreasoning, 
nightmare terror. She was lying on a bed of fern in a 
narrow, dark ravine. The place was full of shadow, 
though far overhead she saw the light of day. At one 
end, only a few yards from her, a stream rushed and 
gurgled among great boulders, and its insistent mur- 
mur filled the air. Behind her rose a great wall of 
grey rock, clothed here and there with some dark 
growth. Its rugged face was dented with hollows 
that looked like the homes of wild animals. There 
was a constant trickle of water on all sides, an 
eerie whispering, remote but incessant. As she sat 
there in growing panic, a great bat-like creature, im- 
mense and shadowy, swooped soundlessly by her. 


32 


THe Way of an E^a^le 


She shrank back with another cry, and found Nick 
Ratcliffe’s arm thrust protectingly about her. 

“It ’s all right,’' he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. 
“You 're not frightened at flying-foxes, are you?” 

Recalled to the fact of his presence, she turned 
sharply, and flung his arm away as though it had been 
a snake. “Don’t touch me!” she gasped, passionate 
loathing in voice and gesture. 

“Sorry, ” said Nick imperturbably. “ I meant well. ” 

He began to busy himself with a small bundle that 
lay upon the ground, whistling softly between his teeth, 
and for a few seconds Muriel sat and watched him. 
He was dressed in a flowing native garment, that 
covered him from head to foot. Out of the heavy en- 
veloping folds his smooth, yellow face looked forth, 
sinister and terrible to her fevered vision. He looked 
like some evil bird, she thought to herself. 

Glancing down, she saw that she was likewise at- 
tired, save that her head was bare. The hair hung wet 
on her forehead, and the water dripped down her face. 
She put up her hand half-mechanically to wipe the 
drops away. Her fear was mounting rapidly higher. 

She knew now what had happened. He had drugged 
her forcibly — she shivered at the remembrance — and 
had borne her away to this dreadful place during her 
unconsciousness. Her father was left behind in the 
fort. He had sanctioned her removal. He had given 
her, a helpless captive, into this man’s keeping. 

But no! Her whole soul rose up in sudden fierce 
denial of this. He had never done this thing. He had 
never given his consent to an act so cowardly and so 
brutal. He was incapable of parting with her thus. 
He could never have permitted so base a trick, so cru^ 
so outrageous, a deed of treachery. 


Desolation 


33 


Strength came suddenly to her — the strength of 
frenzy. She leaped to her feet. She would escape. 
She would go back to him through all the hordes of the 
enemy. She would face anything — anything in the 
world — rather than remain at the mercy of this man. 

But — he had not been looking at her, and he did not 
look at her, — his arm shot out as she moved, and his 
hand fastened claw-like upon her dress. 

'‘Sorry, he said again, in the same practical tone. 
‘‘But you ’ll have something to eat before you go.” 

She stooped and strove wildly, frantically, to shake 
off the detaining hand. But it held her like a vice, 
with awful skeleton fingers that she could not, dared 
not, touch. 

"Let me go!” she cried impotently. "How dare 
you? How dare you?” 

Still he did not raise his head. He was on his knees, 
and he would not even trouble himself to rise. 

"I can’t help myself,” he told her coolly. "It ’s 
not my fault. It ’s yours. ” 

She made a final, violent effort to wrest herself free. 
And then — it was as if all power were suddenly taken 
from her — her strained nerves gave way completely, 
and she dropped down upon the ground again in a 
quivering agony of helplessness. 

Nick’s hand fell away from her. "You should n’t,” 
he said gently. "It ’s no good, you know.” 

He returned to his former occupation while she sat 
with her face hidden, in a stupor of fear, afraid to move 
lest he should touch her again. 

" Now, ” said Nick, after a brief pause, "let me have 
the pleasure of seeing you break your fast. There is 
some of that excellent boiled rice of yours here. You 
will feel better when you have had some. ” 


3 


34 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


She trembled at the sound of his voice. Could he 
make her eat also against her will, she wondered? 

Come ! said Nick again, in a tone of soft wheedling 
that he might have employed to a fractious child. 
*‘It 'll do you good, you know, Muriel. Won’t you 
try? Just a mouthful — to please me!” 

Reluctantly she uncovered her face, and looked at 
him. He was kneeling in front of her, the chuddah 
pushed back from his face, humbly offering her an oat- 
meal biscuit with a small heap of rice piled upon it. 

She drew back shuddering. ”I couldn’t eat any- 
thing — possibly,” she said, and even her voice seemed 
to shrink. ** You can. You take it. I would rather 
die.” 

Nick did not withdraw his hand. Take it, Muriel,” 
he said quietly. ” It is going to do you good. ” 

She flashed him a desperate glance in which anger, 
fear, abhorrence, were strongly mingled. He ad- 
vanced the biscuit a little nearer. There was a queer 
look on his yellow face, almost a bullying look. 

‘'Take it, ” he said again. 

And against her will, almost without conscious 
movement, she obeyed him. The untempting morsel 
passed from his hand to hers, and under the compul- 
sion of his insistence she began to eat. 

She felt ks if every mouthful would choke her, but 
she persevered, urged by the dread certainty that he 
would somehow have his way. 

Not until the last fragment was gone did she feel his 
vigilance relax, but he ate nothing himself though 
there remained several biscuits and a very little of the 
rice. 

“You are feeling better?” he asked her then. 

A curious suspicion that he was waiting to tell her 


Desolation 


35 


something made her answer almost feverishly in the 
affirmative. It amounted to a premonition of evil 
tidings, and instinctively her thoughts flew to her 
father. 

‘‘What is it?” she questioned nervously. “You 
have something to say.” 

Nick’s face was turned from her. He seemed to be 
gazing across the ravine. 

“Yes,” he said, after a moment. 

“Oh, what?” she broke in. “Tell me quickly — • 
quickly ! It is my father, I know, I know. He has 
been hurt — wounded ” 

She stopped. Nick had lifted one hand as if to 
silence her. “My dear,” he said, his voice very low, 
“your father died last night — before we left the fort.” 

At her cry of agony he started up, and in a second 
he was on his knees by her side and had gathered her to 
him as though she had been a little child in need of com- 
fort. She did not shrink from him in her extremity. 
The blow had been too sudden, too overwhelming. It 
blotted out all lesser sensibilities. In those first terrible 
moments she did not think of Nick at all, was scarcely 
conscious of his presence, though she vaguely felt the 
comfort of his arms. 

And he, holding her fast against his breast, found no 
consolation, no word of any sort wherewith to soothe 
her. He only rocked her gently, pressing her head to 
his shoulder, while his face, bent above her, quivered 
all over as the face of a man in torture. 

Muriel spoke at last, breaking her stricken silence 
with a strangely effortless composure. “Tell me 
more,” she said. 

She stirred in his arms as if to free herself from some 
oppression, and finally drew herself away from him, 


36 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


though not as if she wished to escape his touch. She 
still seemed to be hardly aware of him. He was the 
medium of her information, that was all. Nick drop- 
ped back into his former attitude, his hands clasped 
firmly round his knees, his eyes, keen as a bird's and 
extremely bright, gazing across the ravine. His lips 
still quivered a little, but his voice was perfectly even 
and quiet. 

'Ht happened very soon after the firing began. It 
must have been directly after he left you. He was hit 
in the breast, just over the heart. We could n't do 
anything for him. He knew himself that it was mor- 
tal. In fact, I think he had almost expected it. We 
took him into the guardroom and made him as easy as 
possible. He lost consciousness before he died. He 
was lying unconscious when I came to you. " 

Muriel made a sharp movement. **And you never 
told me," she said, in a dry whisper. 

thought it best," he answered with great gentle- 
ness. You could not have gone to him. He did n’t 
wish it. " 

Why not?" she demanded, and suddenly her voice 
rang harsh again. “Why could I not have gone to 
him? Why did n’t he wish it?" 

Nick hesitated for a single instant. Then, “It was 
for your own sake," he said, not looking at her. 

“You mean he suffered?" 

“While he remained conscious — yes." Nick spoke 
reluctantly. “It did n’t last long," he said. 

She scarcely seemed to hear him. “And so you 
tricked me, " she said ; “ you tricked me while my father 
was lying dying. I was not to see him — either then or 
after — for my own sake! And do you think" — hef 
voice rising — “do you think that you were in any way 


Desolation 


37 


justified in treating me so? Do you think it was merci- 
ful to blind me and to take from me all I should ever 
have of comfort to look back upon? Do you think I 
could n’t have borne it all ten thousand times easier 
if I could have seen and known the very worst? It 
was my right— it was my right ! How dared you take 
it from me? I will never forgive you — never!” 

She was on her feet as the passionate protest burst 
from her, but she swayed as she stood and flung out her 
arms with a groping gesture. 

could have borne it,” she cried again wildly, 
piteously. '‘I could have borne anything — anything 
— ^if I had only known!” 

She broke into a sudden, terrible sobbing, and threw 
herself down headlong upon the earth, clutching at the 
moss with shaking, convulsive fingers, and crying be- 
tween her sobs for Daddy! Daddy!” as though her 
agony could pierce the dividing barrier and bring him 
back to her. Nick made no further attempt to help 
her. He sat gazing stonily out before him in a sphinx- 
like stillness that never varied while the storm of her 
anguish spent itself at his side. 

Even after her sobs had ceased from sheer exhaus- 
tion he made no movement, no sign that he was so 
much as thinking of her. 

Only when at last she raised herself with difficulty, 
and put the heavy hair back from her disfigured face, 
did he turn slightly and hold out to her a small tin cup. 

^Ht ’s only water,” he said gently. '‘Have some.” 

She took it almost mechanically and drank, then lay 
back with closed eyes and burning head, sick and 
blinded by her paroxysm of weeping. 

A little later she felt his hands moving about her 
again, but she was too spent to open her eyes. He 


38 


TKe "Way of an El^a^le 


bathed her faoe with a care equal to any woman’s^ 
smoothed back her hair, and improvised a pillow for 
her head. 

And afterwards she knew that he sat down by her, 
out of sight but close at hand, a silent presence watch- 
ing over her, till at last, worn out with grief and the 
bitter strain of the past weeks, she sank into natural, 
dreamless slumber, and slept for hours. 


CHAPTER V 


THE DEVIL IN THE WILDERNESS 

I T was dark when Muriel awoke — so dark that she lay 
for a while dreamily fancying herself in bed. But 
this illusion passed very quickly as her brain, refreshed 
and active, resumed its work. The cry of a jackal at 
no great distance roused her to full consciousness, and 
she started up in the chill darkness, trembling and 
afraid. 

Instantly a warm hand grasped hers, and a low 
voice spoke. '' It 's all right, '' said Nick. ''I’m here. ” 
"Oh, isn’t it dark?” she said. "Isn’t it dark?” 
"Don’t be frightened,” he answered gently. 
"Come close to me. You are cold.” 

She crept to him shivering, thankful for the shielding 
arm he threw around her. 

"The sunrise can’t be far off,” he said. "I expect 
you are hungry, are n’t you?” 

She was very hungry, and he put a biscuit into her 
hand. The very fact of eating there in the darkness 
in some measure reassured her. She ate several bis- 
cuits, and began to feel much better. 

"Getting warmer?” questioned Nick. "Let me 
feel your hands.” They were still cold, and he took 
them and thrust them down against his breast. She 
shrank a little at the touch of his warm flesh. 

"It will make you so cold,” she murmured. 

39 


40 


THe Way of an Hagle 


But he only laughed at her softly, and pressed them 
closer. I am not easily chilled, ’’ he said. '‘Besides, 
it ’s sleeping that makes you cold. And I have n't 
slept." 

Muriel heard the news with astonishment. She was 
no longer angry with Nick, and her fears of him were 
dormant. Though she would never forget and might 
never forgive his treachery, he was her sole protector 
in that wilderness of many terrors, and she lacked the 
resolution to keep him at arm's length. There was, 
moreover, something comforting in his presence, some- 
thing that vastly reassured her, making her lean upon 
him almost in spite of herself. 

“Have n't you slept at all?" she asked him in won- 
der. “How in the world did you keep awake?" 

He did not answer her, only laughed again as though 
at some secret joke. He seemed to be in rather good 
spirits, she noticed, and she marvelled at him with 
a heavy pain at her heart that was utterly beyond 
expression or relief. 

She sat silent for a little, then at length withdrew 
her hands, assuring him that they were quite warm. 

“And I want to talk to you*" she added, in a more 
practical tone than she had previously managed to 
assume. “Mr. Ratcliff e, you may be in command of 
this expedition, but I think you ought to tell me your 
plans. " 

“Call me Nick, won't you?" he said. “It 'll make 
things easier. You are quite welcome to know my 
plans, such as they are. I have n’t managed to de- 
velop anything very ingenious during all these hours. 
You see we are, to a certain extent, at the mercy of 
circumstances. This place is n't more than a dozen 
miles from the fort, and the hills aJJ round are infested 


TKe Devil in tKe "Wilderness 41 


with tribesmen. I hoped at first that we should get 
clear in the night, but you were asleep, and on the 
whole it seemed best to lie up for another day. We 
might make a bolt for it to-morrow night if all goes 
well. I have a sort of instinct for these mountains. 
There is always plenty of cover for those who know 
how to find it. It will be slow progress, of course, but 
we will keep moving south,; and, given luck, we may 
fall in with Bassett’s relief column before many days. ’’ 

So with much serenity he disclosed his plans, and 
Muriel marvelled afresh at the confidence that buoyed 
him up. Was he really as sublimely free from anxiety 
as he wished her to believe, she wondered? It was 
difficult to think otherwise, even though he had ad- 
mitted that they were governed by circumstance. 
She began to think that there was magic in him, some 
hidden reserve force upon which he could always draw 
when all other resources failed. 

Another matter had also caught her attention, and 
this she presently decided to investigate. She had 
never thought of Nick Ratcliffe as in any sense a re- 
markable person before. 

“Did you actually carry me ten miles?’’ she asked. 

“Something very near it, ” said Nick. 

“How in the world did you do it?” Her interest 
was quickened. Undoubtedly there was something 
uncanny in this man’s strength. 

“You ’re not very heavy, you know,” he said. 

His arm was still around her, and she suffered it; 
for the darkness still frightened her when she allowed 
herself to think. 

“ Have youhad anything to eat ? ” sheasked himnext. 

“Not quite lately,” said Nick. “I ’ve been smok- 
ing. I wonder you did n’t notice it.” 


42 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


His tone was somehow repressive, but she ignored it 
with a growing temerity. After all, he did not seem 
such an alarming person on a nearer acquaintance. 

^^Does smoking do as well as eating?’' she asked. 

''Much better,” said Nick promptly. "Care to 
try?” 

She shook her head in the darkness. "I don’t 
think you are telling the truth,” she said. 

"What?” said Nick. 

He spoke carelessly, but she did not repeat her as- 
sertion. A sudden shyness descended upon her, and 
she became silent. Nick was quiet too, and she won- 
dered what was passing in his mind. But for the 
tenseness of the arm that encircled her, she could have 
believed him to be dozing. The silence was becoming 
oppressive when abruptly he broke it. 

"See!” he said. "Here comes the dawn!” 

She started and stared in front of her. seeing nothing. 

"Over to your left,” said Nick. And turning she 
beheld a lightening of the darkness high above them. 

She breathed a sigh of thankfulness, and watched 
it grow. It spread rapidly. The walls of the ravine 
showed ghostly grey, then faintly pink. Through the 
dimness the boulders scattered about the stream stood 
up like mediaeval monsters, and for a few panic- 
stricken seconds Muriel took the twining roots of a 
rhododendron close at hand for the coils of a gigantic 
snake. Then as the ordinary light of day filtered 
down into the gloomy place she sighed again with 
relief, and looked at her companion. 

He was sitting with his chin on his hand, gazing 
across the ravine. He did not stir or glance in her 
direction. His yellow face was seamed in a thousand 
wrinkles. 


THe Devil in the \Srilclerness 43 


A vague misgiving assailed her as she looked at him. 
There was something unnarural in his stillness. 

^'Nick!’' she said at length with hesitation. 

He turned sharply, and in an instant the ready grin 
leaped out upon his face. '^Good morning,’’ he said 
lightly. was just thinking how nice it would be 
to go down there and have a wash. We ’ve got to pass 
the time somehow, you know. Will you go first?” 

His gaiety baffled her, but she did not feel wholly 
reassured. She got up slowly, and as she did so, her 
attention was caught by something that sent a thrill 
of dismay through her. 

Don’t look at my feet, please, ” said Nick. ** They 
won’t bear inspection at present. ” 

She turned horrified eyes to his face, as he thrust 
them down into a bunch of fern. ”How dreadful!” 
she exclaimed. '^They are all cut and gashed. I 
didn’t know you were barefooted.” 

wasn’t,” said Nick. ’ve got some sandals 
here. Don’t look like that! You make me want to 
cry. I assure you it does n’t hurt in the least.” 

He grinned again as he uttered this cheerful lie, but 
Muriel was not deceived. 

‘‘You must let me bind them up,” she said. 

'‘Not for the world,” laughed Nick. “I could n’t 
walk with my feet in poultice-bags, and we shall have 
some more rough marching to do to-night. Now don’t 
you worry. Run along like a good girl. I ’m going to 
say my prayers. ” 

It was flippantly spoken, but Muriel realised that 
it would be better to obey. She turned about slowly, 
and began to make her way down to the stream. 

The sunlight was beginning to slant through the 
ravine, and here and there the racing water gleamed 


44 


XHe Way of an £a^le 


silvery. It was intensely refreshing to kneel and 
bathe face and hands in its icy coldness. She lingered 
long over it. Its sparkling purity seemed to reach 
and still the throbbing misery at her heart. In some 
fashion it brought her peace. 

She would have prayed, but she felt she had no 
prayer to offer. She had no favour to ask for herself, 
and her world was quite empty now. She had no 
one in her heart for whom to pray. 

Yet for awhile she knelt dumb among the lifeless 
stones, her face hidden, her thoughts with the father 
whose loss she had scarcely begun to realise. It might 
be that God would understand and pity her silence, she 
thought drearily to herself. 

The rush of the water drowned all sound but its 
own, and the memory of Nick, waiting above, faded 
from her consciousness like a dream. Her brain felt 
numb and heavy still. She did not want to think. 
She leaned her head against a rock, closing her eyes. 
The continuous babble of the stream was like a 
lullaby. 

Under its soothing influence she might have slept, 
a blessed drowsiness was stealing over her, when sud- 
denly there flashed through her being a swift warning 
of approaching danger. Whence it came she knew 
not, but its urgency was such that instinctively she 
started up and looked about her. 

The next instant, with a sound half-gasp, half-cry, 
she was on her feet, and shrinking back against her 
sheltering boulder in the paralysis of a great horror. 
There, within a few yards of her and drawing nearer, 
ever nearer, with a beast-like stealth, was a tall, black- 
bearded tribesman. Transfixed by terror, she stood 
and gazed at him, waiting dumbly, cold from head to 


TKe Devil in tKe "Wilderness 45 

foot, feeling as though her very heart had turned to 
stone. 

Nearer he came, and yet nearer, soundlessly over 
the stones. His eyes, gleaming, devilish, were to her 
as the eyes of a devouring monster. In her agony she 
tried to shriek aloud, but her voice was gone, her throat 
seemed locked. She was powerless. 

Close to her, for a single instant he paused; then, 
as in a lightning flash, she saw the narrow, sinewy hand 
and snake-like arm dart forward to seize her, felt every 
muscle in her body stiffen to rigidity in anticipation of 
its touch, and shrank — shrank in every nerve though 
she made no outward sign of shrinking. 

But on the instant, with a panther-like spring, sure, 
noiseless, deadly, another flgure leapt suddenly across 
her vision. There followed a violent struggle in front 
of her, a confused swaying to and fro, a cry choked 
instantly and terribly, the tinkling sound of steel fall- 
ing upon stone. And then both flgures were on the 
groimd almost at her feet, locked together in mortal 
combat, fighting, fighting like demons in a silence that 
throbbed with the tumult of unrestrained savagery. 

Later she never could remember how long it took 
her to realise that the second apparition was Nick, or 
if she had known it from the first. She felt herself 
hovering upon the brink of a great emptiness, a void 
immense, and yet all her senses were alive and tingling 
with horror. With agonised perception of what was 
passing, she yet felt numbed : as though her body were 
dead, but still contained a vital, tortured soul. 

And it was thus that she presently saw Nick’s face 
bent above the black-bearded face of his enemy; and 
remembered suddenly and horribly a pictiure she had 
once seen of the devil in the vildemess. 


1 


THe Way of an Elagle 


With his knees he was gripping the writhing body 
of his fallen foe. With his hands — it came upon her 
as she watched with a shock of anguished comprehen- 
sion — he was deliberately and with deadly intention 
choking out the man's life. 

Curse you! Die!" she heard him say and his 
V'oice sounded like the snarl of a wild beast. His upper 
lip was drawn back, the lower one was between his 
teeth, and from it the blood dripped continuously upon 
his hands and upon the dark throat he gripped. 

'‘Give me chat knife!" he suddenly said, with an 
upward jerk of the head. 

A dagger was lying almost within his reach, close 
to her foot. She could have kicked it towards him had 
not her body been fast bound in that deathly inertia. 
But her whole soul rose up in wild revolt at the order. 
She tried to cry out, to implore him to have mercy, but 
she could not make a sound. She could only stand in 
frozen horror, and witness this awful thing. 

She saw Nick shift his grip to one hand and reach 
out with the other for the weapon. He grasped it and 
recovered himself. A great darkness was descending 
upon her, but it did not come at once. It hovered 
before her eyes, and seemed to pass, and again she saw 
the horror at her feet; saw Nick, bent to destroy like 
an eagle above his prey, merciless, full of strength, 
terrible; saw the man beneath him, writhing, con- 
vulsed, tortured ; saw his upturned face, and starting 
eyes ; saw the sudden downward swoop of Nick’s right 
hand, the flash of the descending steel. 

In her agony she burst the spell that bound her, and 
shrieking turned to flee from that awful sight. 

But even as she moved, the darkness came suddenly 
back upon her, enveloping her, overwhelming her — a 


THe Devil in tHe Wilderness 47 

darkness that could be felt. For a little she fought 
against it frantically, impotently. Then her feet 
seemed to totter over the edge of a dreadful, formless 
silence. She knew that she fell. 


CHAPTER 


WHEN STRONG MEN FAIL 

rAKEup!*’saidNicksoftly. ‘‘Wake up! Don^t 
YV be afraid.” 

But Muriel turned her face from the light with a 
moan. Memory winged with horror was sweeping 
back upon her, and she wanted never to wake again. 

“Wake up!” Nick said again, and this time there 
was insistence in his voice. “ Open your eyes, Muriel. 
There is nothing to frighten you.” 

Shuddering, she obeyed him. She was lying once 
more upon her couch of ferns, and he was stooping over 
her, looking closely into her face. His eyes were ex- 
traordinarily bright, like the eyes of an eagle, but the 
lids flickered so rapidly that he seemed to be looking 
through her rather than at her. There was a wound 
upon his lower lip, and at the sight she shuddered 
again, closing her eyes. She remembered that the last 
time she had looked upon that face, it had been the 
face of a devil. 

“Oh, go away! Go away!” she wailed. “Let me 
die!” 

“I will go away,” he answered swiftly, “if you will 
promise to drink what is in this cup. ” 

He pressed it against her hand, and she took it 
almost mechanically. “ It is only brandy and water, ” 
he said. “You will drink it ? ” 


"WHen Strong Men Fail 


49 


**I£ I must/' she answered weakly. 

“You must," he rejoined, and she heard him rise 
and move away. She strained her ears to listen, but 
she very soon ceased to hear him; and then raising 
herself cautiously, she drank. A warm thrill of life 
ran through her veins with the draught, steadying her, 
refreshing her. But it was long before she could bring 
herself to look round. 

The miniature roar of the stream was the only 
sound to be heard, and when at length she glanced 
downwards there was no sign anywhere of the 
ghastly spectacle she had just witnessed. She saw 
the rock behind which she had knelt, and again a 
violent fit of shuddering assailed her. What did that 
rock conceal? 

Nevertheless she presently took courage to rise, 
looking about her furtively, half afraid that Nick 
might pop up at any moment to detain her. For she 
felt that she could not stay longer in that place, what- 
ever he might say or do. The one idea that possessed 
her was to get away from him, to escape from his hor- 
rible presence, whither she neither knew nor cared. 
If he appeared to stop her then, she thought that she 
would go raving mad. 

But she saw nothing of him as she stood there, and 
with deep relief she began to creep away. Half a 
dozen yards she covered, and then stood suddenly still 
with her heart in her throat. There, immediately in 
front of her, flung prone upon the ground with his face 
on his arms, was Nick. He did not move at her com- 
ing, did not seem to hear. And the thought came to 
her to avoid him by a circuit, and yet escape. But 
something — a queer, indeflnable something — made 
her pause. Why was he lying there? Had he been 


50 


XKe W'ay of an Ca^le 


hurt in that awful struggle? Was he — ^was he uncon« 
scious? Was he — dead? 

She fought back the impulse to fly, not for its un- 
worthiness, but because she felt that she must know. 

Trembling, she moved a little nearer to the prostrate, 
motionless figure. 

^‘Nick!’* she whispered tmder her breath. 

He made no sign. 

Her doubt turned to sudden, overmastering fear 
that pricked her forward in spite of herself. 

*‘Nick!^’ she said again, and finding herself close 
to him she bent and very slightly touched his shoulder. 

He moved then, and she almost gasped with 
relief. He turned his head sharply without raising 
himself, and she saw the grim lines of his lean cheek 
and jaw. 

^^That you, Muriel?” he said, speaking haltingly, 
spasmodically. *m awfully sorry. Fact is— I ’m 
not well. I shall be — better — directly. Go back, 
won’t you?” 

He broke off, and lay silent, his hands clenched as 
if he were in pain. 

Muriel stood looking down at him in consternation. 
It was her chance to escape — a chance that might 
never occur again — ^but she had no further thought of 
taking it. 

‘‘What is it?” she asked him timidly, “Can I — 
do anything?” 

And then she suddenly saw what was the matter. 
It burst upon her — a startling revelation. Possibly 
the sight of those skeleton fists helped her to enlight- 
enment. She turned swiftly and sped back to their 
camping ground. 

In thirty seconds or less, she waa back again and 


'WHen Strong Men Fail 51 

stooping over him with a piece of brown bread in her 
hand. 

^‘Eat this/' she ordered, in a tone of authority. 

Nick's face was hidden again. He seemed to be 
fighting with himself. His voice came at length, 
muffled and indistinct. 

'‘No, no! Take it away! I 'll have a drain of 
brandy. And I 've got some tobacco left.” 

Muriel stooped lower. She caught the words 
though they were scarcely audible. She laid her 
hand upon his arm, stronger in the moment's emerg- 
ency than she had been since leaving the fort. 

“You are to eat it, ” she said very decidedly. “You 
shall eat it. Do you hear, Nick? I know what is the 
matter with you. You are starving. I ought to have 
seen it before.” 

Nick uttered a shaky laugh, and dragged himself 
up on to his elbows. “I’m not starving,” he declared. 
“Take it away, Muriel. Do you think I 'm going to 
eat your luncheon, tea, and dinner, and to-morrow's 
breakfast as well?” 

“You are going to eat this,” she answered. 

He flashed her a glance of keen curiosity. “Am 
I?” he said. 

“You must,” she said, speaking with an odd vehe- 
mence which later surprised herself. “Why should 
you go out of your way to tell me a lie? Do you think 
I can’t see?” 

Nick raised himself slowly. Something in the situa- 
tion seemed to have deprived him of his usual readi- 
ness. But he would not take the bread, would not 
even look at it. 

“I 'm better now,” he said. “We 'll go back.” 

Muriel stood for a second irresolute, then sharply 


52 


THe Way of an Eagle 


turned her back. Nick sat and watched her in silence. 
Suddenly she wheeled. '‘There!” she said. "IVe 
divided it. You will eat this at least. It 's absurd 
of you to starve yourself. You might as well have 
stayed in the fort to do that.” 

This was unanswerable. Nick took the bread with- 
out further protest. He began to eat, marvelling at 
his own docility; and suddenly he knew that he was 
ravenous. 

There was very little left when at length he looked 
up. 

"Show me what you have saved for yourself,” he 
said. 

But Muriel backed away with a short, hysterical 
laugh. 

He started to his feet and took her rudely by the 
shoulder. " Do you mean to say — ” he began, almost 
with violence; and then checked himself, peering at 
her with fierce, uncertain eyes. 

She drew away from him, all her fears returning 
upon her in a flood; but at her movement he set her 
free and turned his back. 

"Heaven knows what you did it for, ” he said, seem- 
ing to control his voice with some difficulty. "It 
was n't for your own sake, and I won’t presume to 
think it was for mine. But when the time comes for 
handing round rewards, may it be remembered that 
your offering was something more substantial than a 
cup of cold water.” 

He broke off with a queer sound in the throat, and 
began to move away. 

But Muriel followed him, an unaccountable sense of 
responsibility overcoming her reluctance. 

"Nick!” she said. 


"WHen Strong Men Fail 


53 


He stood still without turning. She had a feeling 
that he was putting strong restraint upon himself. 
With an effort she forced herself to' continue. 

''You want sleep, I know. Will you — will you lie 
down while I watch?’’ 

He shook his head without looking at her. 

"But I wish it,” she persisted. "I can wake you 
if — anything happens.” 

"You wouldn’t dare,” said Nick. 

"I suppose that means you are afraid to trust me,” 
she said. 

He turned at that. "It means nothing of the 
sort. But you Ve had one scare, and you may 
have another. I think myself that that fellow was a 
scout on the look-out for Bassett’s advance guard. 
But Heaven only knows what brought him to this 
place, and there may be others. That ’s why I did n’t 
dare to shoot. ” 

He paused, his light eyebrows raised, surveying 
her questioningly ; for Muriel had suddenly covered 
her face with both hands. But in another moment 
she looked up again, and spoke with an effort. 

"Your being awake couldn’t lessen the danger. 
Won’t you — please — be reasonable about it? I am 
doing my best. ” 

There was a deep note of appeal in her voice, and 
abruptly Nick gave in. 

He moved back to their resting-place without an- 
other word, and flung himself face downwards beside 
the nest of fern that he had made for her, lying 
stretched at full length like a log. 

She had not expected so sudden and complete a 
surrender. It took her unawares, and she stood look- 
ing down at him, uncertain how to proceed. 


54 


THe "Way of an Eagle 


But after a few seconds he turned his head towards 
her and spoke. 

''You 11 stay by me, Muriel?” 

"Of course,” she answered, that unwonted sense 
of responsibility still strongly urging her. 

He murmured something unintelligible, and stirred 
uneasily. She knew in a flash what he wanted, but a 
sick sense of dread held her back. She felt during the 
silence that followed as though he were pleading with 
her, urging her, even entreating her. Yet still she re- 
sisted, standing near him indeed, but with a desperate 
reluctance at her heart, a shrinking unutterable from 
the bare thought of any closer proximity to him that 
was as the instinctive recoil of purity from a thing 
unclean. 

The horror of his deed had returned upon her over- 
whelmingly with his brief reference to it. His lack of 
emotion seemed to her as hideous callousness, more 
horrible than the deed itself. His physical exhaustion 
had called her out of herself, but the reaction was 
doubly terrible. 

Nick said no more. He lay quite motionless, hardly 
seeming to breathe, and she realised that there was no 
repose in his attitude. He was not even trying to rest. 

She wrung her hands together. It could not go on, 
this tension. Either she must yield to his imspoken 
desire, or he would sit up and cry off the bargain. And 
she knew that sleep was a necessity to him. Commom 
sense told her that he was totally unfit for further 
hardship without it. 

She closed her eyes a moment, summoning all her 
strength for the greatest sacrifice she had ever made. 
And then in silence she sat down beside him, within 
reach of his hand. 


When Strong Men Fail 


55 


He uttered a great sigh and stiffered his whole body 
to relax. And she knew by the action, though he did 
not speak a word, that she had set his mind at rest. 

Scarcely a minute later, his quiet breathing told 
her that he slept, but she sat on by his side without 
moving during the long empty hours of her vigil. He 
had trusted her without a question, and, as her father’s 
daughter, she would at whatever cost prove herself 
worthy of his trust. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE COMING OF AN ARMY 


HROUGH a great part of the night that followed 



i they tramped steadily southward. The stars 
were Nick’s guide, though as time passed he began to 
make his way with the confidence of one well-ac- 
quainted with his surroundings. The instinct of lo- 
cality was a sixth sense with him. Hand in hand, over 
rocky ground, through deep ravines, by steep and dif- 
ficult tracks, they made their desperate way. Some- 
times in the distance dim figures moved mysteriously, 
revealed by starlight, but none questioned or molested 
them. They passed from rock to rock through the 
heart of the enemy’s country, unrecognised, un- 
observed. There were times when Nick grasped his 
revolver under his disguise, ready, ready at a moment’s 
notice, to keep his word to the girl’s father, should 
detection be their portion; but each time as the danger 
passed them by he tightened his hold upon her, 
drawing her forward with greater assurance. 

They scarcely spoke throughout the long, long 
march. Muriel had moved at first with a certain 
elasticity, thankful to escape at last from the horrors 
of their resting-place. But very soon a great weariness 
came upon her. She was physically unfit for any pro- 
longed exertion. The long strain of the siege had 
weakened her more than she knew. 


TKe Coming of an Army 57 

Nevertheless, she kept on bravely, uttering no com- 
plaint, urged to utmost effort by the instinctive desire 
to escape. It was this one idea that occupied all her 
thoughts during that night. She shrank with a vivid 
horror from looking back. And she could not see into 
the dim blank future. It was mercifully screened from 
her sight. 

At her third heavy stumble, Nick stopped and made 
her swallow some raw brandy from his flask. This 
buoyed her up for a while, but it was evident to them 
both that her strength was fast failing. And pre- 
^sently he stopped again, and without a word lifted 
her in his arms. She gasped a protest to which he 
made no response. His arms compassed her like steel, 
making her feel helpless as an infant. He was limping 
himself, she noticed ; yet he bore her strongly, without 
faltering, sure-footed as a mountain goat over the 
broken ground, till he found at length what he deemed 
a safe halting-place in a clump of stunted trees. 

The sunrise revealed a native village standing among 
rice and cotton fields in the valley below them, 
shall have to go foraging,*' Nick said. 

But Muriel's nerves that had been tottering on the 
verge of collapse for some time here broke down com- 
pletely. She clung to him hysterically and entreated 
him not to leave her. 

'*1 can't bear it? I can't bear it!” she kept re- 
iterating. ‘Hf you go, I must go too. I can't — I 
can't stay here alone.” 

He gave way instantly, seeing that she was in a 
state of mind that bordered upon distraction, and that 
he could not safely leave her. He sat down beside her, 
therefore, making her as comfortable as he could; and 
she presently slept with her head upon his shouldefe 


58 


The Way of an Eagle 


It was but a broken slumber, however, and she awoke 
from it crying wildly that a man was being murdered 
— murdered — murdered — and imploring him with 
agonised tears to intervene. 

He quieted her with a steady insistence that gained 
its end, though she crouched against him sobbing for 
some time after. As the sun rose higher her fever in- 
creased, but she remained conscious and suffering in- 
tensely, all through the heat of the day. Then, as the 
evening drew on, she slipped into a heavy stupor. 

It was the opportunity Nick had awaited for hours, 
and he seized it. Laying her back in the deep shadow 
of a boulder, he went swiftly down into the valley. 
The last light was passing as he strode through the 
village, a gaunt, silent figure in a hillman’s dress, a 
native dagger in his girdle. Save that he had pulled 
the chuddah well over his face, he attempted no con- 
cealment. 

He glided by a ring of old men seated about a fire, 
moving like a shadow through the glare. They turned 
to view him, but he had already passed with the tread 
of a wolf, and the mud wall of one of the cottages hid 
him from sight. 

Into this hut he dived as though some instinct 
guided him. He paid no heed to a woman on a string- 
bedstead with a baby at her breast, who chattered 
shrilly at his entrance. Preparations for a meal were 
in progress, and he scarcely paused before he lighted 
upon what he sought. A small earthen pitcher stood 
on the mud floor. He swooped upon it, caught it up, 
splashing milk in all directions, clapped his hand 
yellow and claw-like upon the mouth, and was gone. 

There arose a certain hue and cry behind him, but 
he was swiftly beyond detection, a fleeing shadow up 


THe Coming of an Army 59 

the hillside. And the baffled villagers, returning, found 
comfort in the reflection that he was doubtless a holy 
man and that his brief visit would surely entail a 
blessing. 

By the time they arrived at this conclusion, Nick 
was kneeling by the girl's side, supporting her while 
she drank. The nourishment revived her. She came 
to herself, and thanked him. 

^^You will have some too," said she anxiously. 

And Nick drank also with a laugh and a joke to 
cloak his eagerness. That draught of milk was more 
to him at that moment than the choicest wine of the 
gods. 

He sat down beside her again when he had thus 
refreshed himself. He thought that she was drowsy, 
and was surprised when presently she laid a trembling 
hand upon his arm. 

He bent over her quickly ‘‘What is it? Any« 
thing I can do?" 

She did not shrink from him any longer. He could 
but dimly see her face in the strong shadow cast by 
the moonlight behind the trees. 

“I want just to tell you, Nick," she said faintly, 
"that you will have to go on without me when the 
moon sets. You need n’t mind about leaving me any 
more. I shall be dead before the morning comes. I ’m 
not afraid. I think I ’m rather glad. I am so very, 
very tired." 

Her weak voice failed. 

Nick was stooping low over her. He did not speak 
at once. He only took the nerveless hand that lay 
upon his arm and carried it to his lips, breathing for 
many seconds upon the cold fingers. 

When at length he spoke, his tone was infinitely 


6o 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


gentle, but it possessed, notwithstanding, a certain 
quality of arresting force. 

'‘My dear,” he said, “you belong to me now, you 
know. You have been given into my charge, and I 
am not going to part with you. ” 

She did not resist him or attempt to withdraw her 
hand, but her silence was scarcely the silence of ac- 
quiescence. When she spoke again after a long pause, 
there was a piteous break in her voice. 

“Why don’t you let me die? I want to die. Why 
do you hold me back?” 

“Why?” said Nick swiftly. “Do you really want 
me to tell you why?” 

But there he checked himself with a sharp, indrawn 
breath. The next instant he laid her hand gently 
down. 

“You will know some day, Muriel, ” he said. “ But 
for the present you will have to take my reason on trust. 
I assure you it is a very good one. ” 

The restraint of his words was marked by a curious 
vehemence, but this she was too ill at the time to heed. 
She turned her face away almost fretfully. 

“Why should I live?” she moaned. “There is no 
one wants me now. ” 

“That will never be true while I live,” Nick an- 
swered steadily, and his tone was the tone of a man 
who registers a vow. 

But again she did not heed him. She had suffered 
too acutely and too recently to be comforted by pro- 
mises. Moreover, she did not want consolation. She 
wanted only to shut her eyes and die. In her weak- 
ness she had not fancied that he could deny her this. 

And so when presently he roused her by lifting her to 
resume the journey, she shed piteous tears upon his 


THe Coming of an Army 


61 


shoulder, imploring him to leave her where she was. 
He w’ould not listen to her. He knew that it was 
highly dangerous to rest so close to habitation, and he 
would not risk another day in such precarious shelter. 

So for hours he carried her with a strength almost 
superhuman, forcing his physical powers into sub- 
jection to his will. Though limping badly, he covered 
several miles of wild and broken country, deserted for 
the most part, almost incredibly lonely, till towards 
sunrise he found a resting-place in a hollow high up 
the side of a mountain, overlooking a winding, 
desolate pass. 

Muriel was either sleeping or simk in the stupor of 
exhaustion. There was some brandy left in his flask, 
and he made her take a little. But it scarcely roused 
her, and she was too weak to notice that he did not 
touch any himself. 

All through the scorching day that followed, she 
dozed and woke in feverish unrest, sometimes ram- 
bling incoherently till he brought her gravely back, 
sometimes crying weakly, sometimes making feeble 
efforts to pray. 

All through the long, burning hours he never stirred 
away from her. He sat close to her, often holding her 
in his arms, for she seemed less restless so; and perpet- 
ually he gazed out with terrible, bloodshot eyes over the 
savage mountains, through the long, irregular line of 
pass, watching eagle-like, tireless and intent, for the 
deliverance which, if it came at all, must come that 
way. His face was yellow and sunken, lined in a thou- 
sand wrinkles like the face of a monkey; but his eyes 
remained marvellously bright. They looked as if they 
had not slept for years, as if they would never sleep 
again. He was at the end of his resources and he 


62 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


knew it, but he would watch to the very end. He 
would die watching. 

As the sun sank in a splendour that transfigured the 
eternally white mountain-crest to a mighty shimmer 
of rose and gold, he turned at last and looked down at 
the white face pillowed upon his arm. The eyes were 
closed. The ineffable peace of Death seemed to dwell 
upon the quiet features. She had lain so for a long 
time, and he had fancied her sleeping. 

He caught his breath, feeling for his flask, and for 
the first time his hands shook uncontrollably. But 
as the raw spirit touched her lips, he saw her eyelids 
quiver, and a great gasp of relief went through him. 
As she opened her eyes he stayed his hand. It seemed 
cruel to bring her back. But the suffering and the 
half instinctive look of horror passed from her eyes 
like a shadow, as they rested upon him. There was 
even the very faint flicker of a smile about them. 

She turned her face slightly towards him with the 
gesture of a child nestling against his breast. Yet 
though she lay thus in his arms, he felt keenly, bitterly, 
that she was very far away from him. 

He hung over her, still holding himself in with des- 
perate strength, not daring to speak lest he should 
disturb the holy peace that seemed to be drawing all 
about her. 

The sunset glory deepened. For a few seconds the 
crags above them glittered golden as the peaks of Para- 
dise. And in the wonderful silence Muriel spoke. 

^‘Do you see them?” she said. 

He saw that her eyes were turned upon the shin- 
ing mountains. There was a strange light on her 
face. 

‘‘See what, darling?” he asked her softly. 


TKe Coming of an Army 63 

Her eyes came back to him for a moment. They 
had a thoughtful, wondering look. 

‘‘How strange!'' she said slowly. thought it 
was — an eagle." 

The detachment of her tone cut him to the heart. 
And suddenly the pain of it was more than Jie could 
bear. 

'‘It is I — Nick, " he told her, with imgent emphasis. 
"Siurely you know me!" 

But her eyes had passed beyond him again. " Nick? " 
she questioned to herself. " Nick? But this — this was 
an eagle." 

She was drawing away from him, and he could not 
hold her, could not even hope to follow her whither she 
went. A great sob broke from him, and in a moment, 
like the rush of an overwhelming flood from behind 
gates long closed, the anguish of the man burst its 
bonds. 

' ' Muriel ! " he cried passionately. ' ' Muriel ! Stay 
with me, look at me, love me! There is nothing in 
the mountains to draw you. It is here — here beside 
you, touching you, holding you. O God," he prayed 
brokenly, "she doesn't understand me. Let her 
understand, — open her eyes, — make her see!" 

His agony reached her, touched her, for a moment 
held her. She turned her eyes back to his tortiured 
face. 

"But, Nick," she said softly, "I can see." 

He bent lower. "Yes?" he said, in a choked voice. 
"Yes?" 

She regarded him with a faint wonder. Her eyes 
were growing heavy, as the eyes of a tired child. She 
raised one hand and pointed vaguely. 

"Over there," she said wearily. "Can't you see 


64 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


them? Then perhaps it was a dream, or even — per-^ 
haps — a vision. Don’t you remember how it went? 
‘And behold — the mountain — was full — of horses — 
and chariots — of — fire!’ God sent them, you know.” 

The tired voice ceased. Her head sank lower upon 
Nick’s breast. She gave a little quivering sigh, and 
seemed to sleep. 

And Nick turned his tortured eyes upon the pass 
below him, and stared downwards spellbound. 

Was he dreaming also? Or was it perchance a 
vision — the trick of his fevered fancy? There, at his 
feet, not fifty yards from where he sat, he beheld men, 
horses, guns, winding along in a narrow, unbroken line 
as far as he could see. 

A great surging filled his ears, and through it he 
heard himself shout once, twice, and yet a third time 
to the phantom army below. 

The surging swelled in his brain to a terrific tumult 
— a confusion indescribable. And then something 
seemed to crack inside his head. The dark peaks 
swayed giddily against the darkening sky, and top- 
pled inwards without sound. 

The last thing he knew was the call of a bugle, tense 
and shrill as the buzz of a mosquito close to his ear. 
And he laughed aloud to think how so small a thing 
had managed to deceive him. 


PART II 


CHAPTER VIII 


COMRADES 



'HE jingling notes of a piano playing an air from a 


1 comic opera floated cheerily forth into the magic 
silence of the Simla pines, and abruptly, almost spas- 
modically, a cracked voice began to sing. It was a 
sentimental ditty treated jocosely, and its frivolity 
rippled out into the mid-day silence with something 
of the effect of a monkey’s chatter. The khitmutgar 
on the verandah would have looked scandalised or at 
best contemptuous had it not been his r61e to express 
nothing but the dignified humility of the native ser- 
vant. He was waiting for his mistress to come out of 
the nursery where her voice could be heard talking 
imperiously to her baby’s ayah. He had already 
waited some minutes, and he would probably have 
waited much longer, for his patience was inexhausti- 
ble, had it not been for that sudden irresponsible and 
wholly tuneless btu*st of song. But the second line 
was scarcely ended before she came hurriedly forth, 
nearly running into his stately person in her haste. 

‘‘Oh, dear, Sammy!” she exclaimed with some 
annoyance. “Why did n’t you tell me Captain 
Ratcliffe was here?” 

She hastened past him along the verandah with the 

5 6S 


66 


THe "Way of an Ea^le 


words, not troubling about his explanation, and en* 
tered the room whence the music proceeded at a nm. 
dear Nick,*’ she cried impulsively, ‘‘I had no 

idea!” 

The music ceased in a jangle of wrong notes, and 
Nick sprang to his feet, his yellow face wearing a grin 
of irrepressible gaiety. 

‘‘So I gathered, 0 elect lady,” he rejoined, seizing 
her outstretched hands and kissing first one and then 
the other. “And I took the first method that pre- 
sented itself of making myself known. So they be- 
guiled you to Simla, after all?” 

“Yes, I had to come for my baby’s sake. They 
thought at first it would have to be home and no com- 
promise. I ’m longing to show him to you, Nick. 
Only six months, and such a pet already! But tell me 
about yourself. I am sure you have come off the sick 
list too soon. You look as if you had come straight 
from a lengthy stay with the bandar-log.'*' 

**Tu quoque!" laughed Nick. “And with far less 
excuse. Only you manage to look charming notwith- 
standing, which is beyond me. Do you know, Mrs. 
Musgrave, you don’t do justice to the compromise? I 
should be furious with you if I were Will. ” 

Mrs. Musgrave frowned at him. She was a very 
pretty woman, possessing a dainty and mot wholly un- 
conscious charm. “Tell me about yourself, Nick,” 
she commanded. “And don’t be ridiculous. You 
can’t possibly judge impartially on that head, as you 
have n’t the smallest idea as to how ill I have been. I 
am having a rest cure now, you must know, and I don’t 
go anywhere; or I should have come to see you in 
hospital. ” 

“Good thing you didn’t take the trouble,” said 


Comrades 67 

Nick. I Ve been sleeping for the last three weeks, 
and I am only just awake.” 

Mrs. Musgrave looked at him with a very friendly 
smile. ‘*Poor Nick!” she said. '‘And Wara was re- 
lieved after all. ” 

He jerked up his shoulders. "After a fashion. 
Grange was the only white man left, and he had n't 
touched food for three days. If Miuiel Roscoe had 
stayed, she would have been dead before Bassett got 
anywhere near them. There are times when the very 
fact of suffering actively keeps people alive. It was 
that with her.” 

He spoke briefly, almost harshly, and immediately 
turned from the subject. "I suppose you were very 
anxious about your cousin?” 

"Poor Blake Grange? Of coiurse I was. But I 
was anxious — horribly anxious — about you all. ” 
There was a quiver of deep feeling in Mrs. Musgrave's 
voice. 

"Thank you, ” said Nick. He reached out a skele- 
ton finger and laid it on her arm. "I thought you 
would be feeling soft-hearted, so I have come to ask 
you a favour. Not that I should n’t have come in any 
case, but it seemed a suitable moment to choose.” 

Mrs. Musgrave laughed a little. "Have you ever 
found me anything but kind?” she questioned. 

"Never,” said Nick. "You ’re the best pal I ever 
had, which is the exact reason for my coming here to- 
day. Mrs. Musgrave, I want you to be awfully good 
to Muriel Roscoe. She needs some one to help her 
along just now. ” 

Mrs. Musgrave opened her eyes wide, but she said 
nothing at once, for Nick had sprtmg to his feet and 
was restlessly pacing the room. 


68 


TKe “Way of an Ea^le 


**Come back, Nick,” she said at last. ”Tell me a 
little about her. We have never met, you know. And 
why do you ask this of me when she is in Lady Bas- 
sett’s care?” 

'‘Lady Bassett!” said Nick. He made a hideous 
.g^rimace, and said no more. 

Mrs. Musgrave laughed. "How eloquent! Do 
you hate her, too, then? I thought all men wor- 
shipped at that shrine.” 

Nick came back and sat down. "I nearly killed 
her once, ” he said. 

"What a pity you didn’t quite!” ejaculated Mrs. 
Musgrave. 

Nick grinned. "Sits the wind in that quarter? I 
wonder why.” 

" Oh, I hate her by instinct, ” declared Mrs. Mus- 
grave recklessly, "though her scented notes to me 
alwa3rs begin, 'Dearest Daisy’! She always disap- 
proved of me openly till baby came. But she has 
found another niche for me now. I am not supposed 
to be so fascinating as I was. She prefers unattractive 
women. ” 

"Gracious heaven!” interjected Nick. 

"Yes, you may laugh. I do myself. ' ' Daisy Mus- 
grave spoke almost fiercely notwithstanding. "She ’s 
years older than I am anyhow, and I shall score some 
day if I don’t now. Have you ever watched her 
dance? There ’s a sort of snaky, coiling movement 
runs up her whole body. Goodness!” breaking off 
abruptly. "I’m getting venomous myself. I had 
better stop before I frighten you away.” 

"Oh, don’t mind me!” laughed Nick. "No one 
knows better than I that she is made to twist all ways. 
She hates me as a cobra hates a mongoose.” 


Comrades 69 

Really ? * * Daisy Musgrave was keenly interestedc 
*'But why?*' 

He shook his head. *^You had better ask Lady 
Bassett. It may be because I had the misfortime to 
set fire to her once. It is true I extinguished her after- 
wards, but I don’t think she enjoyed it. It was a 
humiliating process. Besides, it spoilt her dress.” 

“But she is always so gracious to you,” protested 
Daisy. 

“Honey-sweet. That’s exactly how I know her 
cobra feelings. And that brings me round to Muriel 
Roscoe again, and the favour I have to ask. ” 

Daisy shot him a sudden shrewd glance. “ Do you 
want to marry her?” she asked him point blank. 

Nick’s colourless eyebrows went up till they nearly 
met his colourless hair. “Dearest Daisy,” he said, 
“ you are a genius. I mean to do that very thing. ” 

Daisy got up and softly closed the window. 
“ Surely she is very young, ” she said. “ Is she in love 
with you?” 

She did not turn at the sound of his laugh. She 
had almost expected it. For she knew Nick Ratcliffe 
as very few knew him. The bond of sympathy be- 
tween them was very strong. 

“ Can you imagine any girl falling in love with me?” 
he asked. 

“Of course I can. You are not so unique as that. 
There is n’t a man in the universe that some woman 
could n’t be fool enough to love.” 

“ Many thanks ! ” said Nick. “Then — I may count 
upon your support, may I? I know Lady Bassett 
will put a spoke in my wheel if she can. But I have 
Sir Reginald’s consent. He is Muriel’s guardian, you 
know. Also, I had her father’s approval in the first 


70 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


place. It has got to be soon, you see, Daisy. The 
present state of affairs is unbearable. She will be 
miserable with Lady Bassett.” 

Daisy still stood with her back to him. She was 
fidgeting with the blind-cord, her pretty face very 
serious. 

”I am not sure,” she said slowly, “that it lies in 
my power to help you. Of course I am willing to do 
my best, because, as you say, we are pals. But, Nick, 
she is very young. And if — if she really does n’t 
love you, you must n’t ask me to persuade her.” 

Nick sprang up impulsively. “Oh, but you don’t 
understand,” he said quickly. “She would be happy 
enough with me. I would see to that. I — I would be 
awfully good to her, Daisy.” 

She turned swiftly at the unwonted quiver in his 
voice. “My dear Nick,” she said earnestly, “I am 
sure of it. You covdd make any woman who loved you 
happy. But no one — no one — knows the misery that 
may result from a marriage without love on both sides 
— except those who have made one.” 

There was something almost passionate in her utter- 
ance. But she turned if off quickly with a smile and a 
friendly hand upon his arm. 

“ Come, ” she said lightly. “ I want to show you my 
boy. I left him almost in tears. But he always smiles 
when he sees his mother.” 

“Who does n’t?” said Nick gallantly, following her 

lead. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE SCHOOL OF SORROW 

T he aromatic scent of the Simla pines literally en» 
circled and pervaded the Bassetts’ btmgalow, 
penetrating to every comer. Lady Bassett was wont 
to pronounce it ^'distractingly sweet,” when her visi- 
tors drew her attention to the fact. Hers was among 
the daintiest as well as the best situated bungalows in 
Simla, and she was pleasantly aware of a certain envy 
on the part of her many acquaintances, which added a 
decided relish to the flavour of her own appreciation. 
But notwithstanding this, she was hardly ever to be 
found at home except by appointment. Her social 
engagements were so numerous that, as she often 
pathetically remarked, she scarcely ever enjoyed the 
luxury of solitude. As a hostess she was indefatigable, 
and being an excellent bridge-player as well as a superb 
dancer, it was not surprising that she occupied a fairly 
prominent position in her own select circle. In ap- 
pearance she was a woman of about five-and-thirty — 
though the malicious added a full dozen years more to 
her credit — with fair hair, a peculiarly soft voice, and 
a smile that was slightly twisted. She was always 
exquisitely dressed, always cool, always gentle, never 
hasty in word or deed. If she ever had reason to re- 
buke or snub, it was invariably done with the utmost 
composure, but with deadly effect upon the offender. 

71 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


Lady Bassett was generally acknowledged to be unan* 
swerable at such times by all but the very few who 
did not fear her. 

There were not many who really felt at ease with 
her, and Muriel Roscoe was emphatically not one of 
the number. Her father had nominated Sir Reginald 
her guardian, and Sir Reginald, aware of this fact, had 
sent her at once to his wife at Simla. The girl had 
been too ill at the time to take any interest in her 
destination or ultimate disposal. It was true that she 
had never liked Lady Bassett, that she had ever felt 
shy and constrained in her presence, and that, had she 
been consulted, she would probably have asked to be 
sent to England. But Sir Reginald had been too ab- 
sorbed in the task before him to spend much thought 
on his dead comrade’s child at that juncture, and he 
had followed the simplest course that presented itself, 
allowing Nick Ratcliffe to retain the privilege which 
General Roscoe himself had bestowed. Thus Muriel 
had come at last into Lady Bassett’s care, and she was 
only just awaking to the fact that it was by no means 
the guardianship she would have chosen for herself had 
she been in a position to choose. As the elasticity of 
her youth gradually asserted itself, and the life began 
to flow again in her veins, the power to suffer returned 
to her, and in the anguish of her awakening faculties 
she knew how utterly she was alone. It was in one 
sense a relief that Lady Bassett, being caught in the full 
swing of the Simla season, was unable to spare much 
of her society for the suddenly bereaved girl who had 
been thrust upon her. But there were times during 
that period of dragging convalescence when any pre- 
sence would have been welcome. 

She was no longer acutely ill, but a low fever hung 


The School of Sorrow 


73 


about her, a species of physical inertia against which 
she had no strength to struggle. And often she won- 
dered to herself with a dreary amazement, why she 
still lived, why she had survived the horrors of that 
flight through the mountains, why she had been thus, 
as it were, cast up upon a desert rock when all that 
had made life good in her eyes had been ruthlessly 
swept away. At such times there would come upon 
her a loneliness almost unthinkable, a shrinking 
more terrible than the fear of death, and the future 
would loom before her black as night, a blank and 
awful desert which she felt she could never dare to 
travel. 

Sometimes in her dreams there would come to her 
other visions — visions of the gay world that throbbed 
so close to her, the world she had entered with her 
father so short a time before. She would hear again 
the hubbub of laughing voices, the music, the tramp of 
dancing feet. And she would start from her sleep to 
find only a great emptiness, a listening silence, an 
unspeakable desolation. 

If she ever thought of Nick in those days, it was as a 
phantom that belonged to the nightmare that lay be- 
hind her. He had no part in her present, and the fu- 
ture she could not bring herself to contemplate. No 
one even mentioned his name to her till one day Lady 
Bassett entered her room before starting for a garden- 
party at Vice-Regal Lodge, a faint flush on her cheeks, 
and her blue eyes brighter than usual. 

have just received a note from Captain Ratcliffe, 
dear Muriel,'' she said. have already mentioned 
to him that you are too unwell to think of receiving 
any one at present, but he announces his intention of 
paying you a visit notwithstanding. Perhaps you 


74 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


would like to write him a note yourself, and corrobc^ 
rate what I have said/’ 

''Captain Ratcliffe!” Muriel echoed blankly, aa 
though the name conveyed nothing to her; and then 
with a great start as the blood rushed to her white 
cheeks, "Oh, you mean Nick. I — I had almost for- 
gotten his other name. Does he want to see me? Is 
he in Simla still?” 

She turned her hot face away with a touch of petu- 
lance from the peculiar look with which Lady Bassett 
was regarding her. What did she mean by looking at 
her so, she wondered irritably? 

There followed a pause, and Lady Bassett began to 
fasten her many-buttoned gloves. 

"Of course, dear,” she said gently, at length, "there 
is not the smallest necessity for you to see him. In- 
deed, if my advice were asked, I should recommend 
you not to do so; for after such a terrible experience as 
yours, one cannot be too circumspect. It is so peril- 
ously easy for rumours to get about. I will readily 
transmit a message for you if you desire it, though 
I think on the whole it would be more satisfactory if 
you were to write him a hne yourself to say that you 
cannot receive him.” 

"Why?” demanded Muriel, with sudden unexpected 
energy. She turned back again, and looked at Lady 
Bassett with a quick gleam that was almost a challenge 
in her eyes. "Why should I not see him? After all, 
I suppose I ought to thank him. Besides — ^besides — ' 
why should I not? ” 

She could not have said what moved her to this un- 
wonted self-assertion. Had Lady Bassett required her 
to see Nick she would probably have refused to do 
so, and listlessly dismissed the matter from her mind* 


The School of Sorrow 


75 


But there was that in Lady Bassett’s manner which 
roused her antagonism almost instinctively. But 
vaguely understanding, she yet resented the soft- 
spoken words. Moreover, a certain perversity, born 
of her weakness, urged her. What right had Lady 
Bassett to deny her to any one? 

*^When is he coming?” she asked. will see him 
when he comes.” 

Lady Bassett yielded the point at once with the 
faintest possible shrug. '‘As you wish, dear child, of 
course; but I do beg of you to be prudent. He speaks 
of coming this afternoon. But would you not like 
him to postpone his visit till I can be with you? ” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Muriel said, with absolute 
simplicity. 

“Ah, well ! ” Lady Bassett spoke in the tone of one 
repudiating all responsibility. She bent over the girl 
with a slightly wry smile, and kissed her forehead. 
“Good-bye, dearest! I shouldn’t encourage him to 
stay long, if I were you. And I think you would be 
wise to call him Captain Ratcliffe now that you are 
living a civilised life once more. ” 

Muriel turned her face aside with a species of bored 
patience that could scarcely be termed tolerance. She 
did not understand these veiled warnings, and she 
cared too little for Lady Bassett and her opinions to 
trouble herself about them. She had never liked her, 
though she knew that her father had conscientiously 
tried to do so for the sake of his friend. Sir Reginald. 

As Lady Bassett went away she rubbed the place on 
her forehead which her cold lips had touched. “ If she 
only knew how I hate being kissed 1 ” she murmured to 
herself. 

And then with an effort she rose and moved wearily 


76 


The Way of an Ea^le 


across the room to ring the bell. Since by some imac- 
countable impulse she had decided to see Nick, it might 
be advisable, she reflected, to give her own orders 
regarding his visit. 

Having done so, she lay down again. But she did 
not sleep. Sleep was an elusive spirit in those days. 
It sometimes seemed to her that she was too worn out 
mentally and physically ever to rest naturally again. 

Nearly an hour passed away while she lay almost 
unconsciously listening. And then suddenly, with a 
sense of having experienced it all long before, there 
came to her the sound of careless footsteps and of a 
voice that hummed. 

It went through her heart like a sword-thrust as she 
called to mind that last night at Fort Wara when she 
had clung to her father for the last time, and had 
heard him bid her good-bye — till they should meet 
again. 

With a choked sensation she rose, and stood steady- 
ing herself by the back of the sofa. Could she go 
through this interview? Could she bear it? Her 
heart was beating in heavy, sickening throbs. For an 
instant she almost thought of escaping and sending 
word that she was not equal to seeing any one, as Lady 
Bassett had already intimated. But even as the im- 
pulse flashed through her brain, she realised that it 
was too late. The shadow of the native servant had 
already darkened the window, and she knew that Nick 
was just behind him on the verandah. With a greats 
sobbing gasp, she turned herself to meet him. 


CHAPTER X 


THE EAGLE SWOOPS 

H e came in as lightly and unceremoniously as 
though they had parted but the day before, a 
smile of greeting upon his humorous, yellow face, 
words of careless good-fellowship upon his lips. 

He took her hand for an instant, and she felt rather 
than saw that he gave her a single, scrutinising glance 
from under eyelids that flickered incessantly. 

I see you are better, ” he said, ^‘so I won’t put you 
to the trouble of saying so. I suppose dear Lady 
Bassett has gone to the Vice-Regal garden-party. But 
it ’s all right. I told her I was coming. Did you have 
to persuade her very hard to let you see me?” 

Muriel stiffened a little at this inquiry. Her agita- 
tion was rapidly subsiding. It left her vaguely chilled, 
even disappointed. She had forgotten how cheerily 
inconsequent Nick could be. 

”I didn’t persuade her at all,” she said coldly. 

simply told her that I should see you in order ” 

^‘Yes?” queried Nick, looking delighted. “In 
order ” 

To her annoyance she felt herself flushing. With a 
gesture of weariness she dismissed the sentence and 
sat down. She had meant to make him a brief and 
gracious speech of gratitude for his past care of her, but 

n 


78 


XKe WTay of an Ea^le 


somehow it stuck in her throat. Besides, it was quite 
obvious that he did not expect it. 

He came and sat down beside her on the sofa. 
‘^Let ’s talk things over,’' he said. ‘*You are out of 
the doctor’s hands, I ’m told.” 

Muriel was leaning back against the cushions. She 
did not raise her heavy eyes to answer. ** Oh, yes, ever 
so long ago. I ’m quite well, only rather tired still.” 

She frowned slightly as she gave this explanation. 
Though his face was not turned in her direction, she 
had a feeling that he was still closely observant of her. 

He nodded to himself twice while he listened and 
then suddenly he reached out and laid his hand upon 
both of hers as they rested in her lap. ’m awfully 
pleased to hear you are quite well, ” he said, in a voice 
that seemed to crack on a note of laughter. 
makes my business all the easier. I ’ve come to ask 
you, dear, how soon you can possibly make it con- 
venient to marry me. To-day? To-morrow? Next 
week? I don’t of course want to hurry you unduly, 
but there does n’t seem to be anything to wait for. 
And — personally — I abhor waiting. Don’t you?” 

He turned towards her with the last words. He had 
spoken very gently, but there seemed to be an element 
of humour in all that he said. 

Muriel’s eyes were wide open by the time he ended. 
She was staring at him in blank astonishment. The 
flush on her face had deepened to crimson. 

” Marry you?” she gasped at length, stammering 
in her confusion. ‘H? Why — why — whatever made 
you dream of such a thing?” 

^'1 ’ll tell you,” said Nick instantly, and quite un- 
dismayed. ”I dreamed that a certain friend of mine 
was lonely and heart-sick and sad. And she wanted — • 


XHe Ha^le Swoops 


79 


horribly — some one to come and take care of her, to 
cheer her up, to lift her over the bad places, to give her 
things which, if they could n’t compensate for all she 
had lost, would be anyhow a bit of a comfort to her. 
And then I remembered how she belonged to me, how 
she had been given to me by her own father to cherish 
and care for. And so I plucked up courage to intrude 
upon her while she was still wallowing in her Slough of 
Despair. And I did n’t pester her with preliminaries. 
We Ve past that stage, you and I, Muriel. I simply 
came to her because it seemed absurd to wait any 
longer. And I just asked her humble-like to fix a day 
when we would get up very early, and bribe the padre 
and sweet Lady Bassett to do likewise, and have a 
short — very short — service all to ourselves at church, 
and when it was over we would just say good-bye 
to all kind friends and depart. Won’t you give the 
matter your serious consideration? Believe me, it is 
worth it.” 

He still held her hand closely in his while he poured 
out his rapid explanation, and his eyebrows worked up 
and down so swiftly that Muriel was fascinated by 
them. His eyes baffled her completely. They were 
like a glancing flame. She listened to his proposal 
with more of bewilderment than consternation. It 
took her breath away without exactly frightening her. 
The steady grasp of his hand and the exceedingly prac- 
tical tones of his voice kept her from imreasoning 
panic; but she was too greatly astoimded to respond 
very promptly. 

‘‘Tell me what you think about it,” he said gently. 

But she was utterly at a loss to describe her feelings. 
She shook her head and was silent. 

After a little he went on, still quickly, but with less 


8o 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


impetuosity. ‘*It isn’t just a sudden fancy of mine 
— this. Don’t think it. There ’s nothing capricious 
about me. Your father knew about it. And because 
he knew, he put you in my care. It was his sole reason 
for trusting you to me. I had his full approval. ” 

He paused, for her fingers had closed suddenly 
within his own. She was looking at him no longer. 
Her memory had flashed back to that last terrible 
night of her father’s life. Again she heard him telling 
her of the one man to whom he had entrusted her, who 
would make it his sole business to save her, who would 
protect her life with his own, heard his speculative 
question as to whether she knew whom he meant, re- 
called her own quick reply, and his answer — and his 
answer. 

With a sudden sense of suffocation, she freed her 
hand and rose. Once more her old aversion to this 
man swept over her in a nauseating wave. Once more 
there rose before her eyes the dread vision which for 
many, many nights had haunted her persistently, de- 
priving her of all rest, all peace of mind — the vision of 
a man in his death-struggle, fighting, agonising, under 
those merciless fingers. 

It was more than she could bear. She covered her 
eyes, striving to shut out the sight that tortured her 
weary brain. Oh, I don’t know if I can ! ” she almost 
wailed. ‘‘I don’t know if I can!” 

Nick did not move. And yet it seemed to her in 
those moments of reawakened horror as if by some 
magnetic force he still held her fast. She strove 
against it with all her frenzied strength, but it eluded 
her, baffled her — conquered her. 

When he spoke at length, she turned and listened, 
lacking the motive-power to resist. 


THe £a^e Swoops 


8l 


** There is nothing to frighten you, anyhow,” he said, 
and the tone in which he said it was infinitely comfort- 
ing, infinitely reassuring. only want to take care 
of you; for you ’re a lonely little soul, not old enough, 
or wise enough to look after youi'self. And I ’ll be 
awfully good to you, Muriel, if you ’h have me. ” 

Something in those last words — a hint of pleading, 
of coaxing even — found its way to her heart, as it were, 
against her will. Moreover, what he said was true. 
She was lonely: miserably, unspeakably lonely. All 
her world was in ashes around her, and there were 
times when its desolation positively appalled her. 

But still she stood irresolute. Could she, dared she, 
take this step? What if that phantom of horror pur- 
sued her relentlessly to the day of her death? Would 
she not come in time to shrink with positive loathing 
from this man whose offer of help she now felt so 
strangely tempted in her utter friendlessness to accept? 

It was impossible to answer these tormenting ques- 
tions satisfactorily. But there was nothing — so she 
told herself — to be gained by waiting. She had no one 
to advise her, no one really to mind what happened to 
her, with the single exception of this friend of hers, who 
only wanted to take care of her. And after all, since 
misery was to be her portion, what did it matter? Why 
should she refuse to listen to him? Had he not shown 
her already that he could be kind? 

A sudden warmth of gratitude towards him stirred 
in her heart — a tiny flame springing up among the 
ashes of her youth. Her horror sank away like an 
evil dream. 

She turned round with a certain deliberation that 
had grown upon her of late, and went back to Nick 
still seated on the sofa. 


6 


82 


TKe Way of an £a^e 


** I don’t care much what I do now,” she said wearily. 
“ I will marry you, if you wish it, if — ^if you are quite 
sure you will never wish you had n’t. ” 

**Well done!” said Nick, with instant approvaL 
‘‘That ’s settled then, for I was quite sure of that 
ages ago.” 

He smiled at her quizzically, his face a mask of 
banter. Of what his actual feelings were at that 
moment she had not the faintest idea. 

With a piteous little smile in answer she laid her 
hand upon his knee. “You will have to be very pa- 
tient with me,” she said tremulously. “For remem- 
ber — I have come to the end of everything, and you 
are the only friend I have left.” 

He took her hand into his own again, with a grasp 
that was warm and comforting. “My dear,” he 
said very kindly, “I shall always remember that you 
once told me so. ” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE FIRST FLIGHT 

M uriel lay awake for hours that night, going over 
and over that interview with Nick till her tired 
brain reeled. She was not exactly frightened by this 
new element that had come into her life. The very 
fact of having something definite to look forward to 
was a relief after dwelling for so long in the sunless 
void of non-expectancy. But she was by no means 
sure that she welcomed so violent a disturbance at the 
actual heart of her darkened existence. She could not, 
moreover, wholly forget her fear of the man who had 
saved her by main force from the fate she would fain 
have shared with her father. His patience — ^his al- 
most womanly gentleness — ^notwithstanding, she could 
not forget the demon of violence and bloodshed that 
she knew to be hidden away somewhere behind that 
smiling, yellow mask. 

She marvelled at herself for her tame surrender, but 
she felt it to be irrevocable nevertheless. So broken 
was she by adversity, that she lacked the energy to 
resist him or even to desire to do so. She tried to 
comfort herself with the thought that she was carry- 
ing out her father’s wishes for her; but this did not take 
her very far. She could not help the doubt arising as 
to whether he had ever really gauged Nick’s exceed- 
ingly elusive character. 

as 


84 


The Way of an Ea^le 


Tired out, at last she slept, and dreamed that an 
eagle had caught her and was bearing her swiftly, 
swiftly, through wide spaces to his eyrie in the moun- 
tains. 

It was a long, breathless flight fraught with excite- 
ment and a nameless exultation that pierced her like 
pain. She awoke from it with a cry that was more of 
disappointment than relief, and started up gasping to 
hear horses’ hoofs dancing in the compound below her 
window to the sound of a cracked, hilarious voice. 

She almost laughed as she realised what it was, and 
in a moment all her misgivings of the night vanished 
like wraiths of the darkness. He had extracted a 
promise from her to ride with him at dawn, and he 
meant to keep her to it. She got up and pulled aside 
the blind. 

A wild view-halloa greeted her, and she dropped it 
again sharply; but not before she had seen Nick pranc- 
ing about the drive on a giddy, long-limbed Waler, and 
making frantic signs to her to join him. Another horse 
with a side-saddle was waiting, held by a grinning 
little saice. The sun was already rising rapidly be- 
hind the mountains. She began to race through her 
toilet at a speed that showed her to have caught some 
of the fever of her cavalier’s impatience. 

She wondered what Lady Bassett thought of the 
disturbance (Lady Bassett never rose early), and 
nearly laughed aloud. 

Hastening out at length she found Nick dismounted 
and waiting for her by the verandah-steps. He sprang 
up to meet her with an eager whoop of greeting. 

'‘Hope you enjoyed my serenade. Come along! 
There ’s no time to waste. Jakko turned red some 
minutes ago. Were you asleep?” " 


THe Fir^i Fli^Ht 


85 


Muriel admitted the fact. 

And dreaming of me, he rattled on, “as was sweet 
and proper?” 

She did not answer, and he laughed like a boy, 
rudely but not insolently. 

“Didn’t I know it? Jump up! We’re going to 
have a glorious gallop. I ’ve brought some slabs 
of chocolate to keep you from starvation. Ready? 
Heave ho ! My dear girl, you ’re disgracefully light 
still. Why don’t you eat more?” 

“You ’re as thin as a herring yourself,” Muriel re- 
torted, with a most unwonted flash of spirit. 

He lifted his grinning face to her as she settled her- 
self in the saddle, and then uncovering swiftly he 
bent and kissed the black cloth of her habit, humbly, 
reverently, as became a slave. 

It sent a queer thrill through her, that kiss of his. 
She felt that it was in some fashion a revelation; but 
she was still too blinded by groping in dark places to 
understand its message. As they trotted side by side 
out of the compound, she knew her face was burning, 
and turned it aside that he might not see. 

It was a wonderful morning. There was intoxica- 
tion in the scent of the pines. The whole atmosphere 
seemed bewitched. They gave their horses the rein 
and raced with the wind through an enchanted world. 
It was the wildest, most alluring ride that she had ever 
known, and when Nick called a halt at last she pro- 
tested with a flushed face and sparkling eyes. 

Nevertheless, it was good to sit and watch the rapid 
transformation that the sun-god was weaving all 
about them. She saw the spurs of Jakko fade from 
pink to purest amber, and then in the passage of a few 
seconds gleam silver in the flood of glory that topped 


86 


The Way of an Eagle 


the highest crests. And her heart fluttered oddly at 
the sight, while again she thought of the eagle of her 
dream, cleaving the wide spaces, and bearing her also. 

She glanced round for Nick, but he had wheeled his 
horse and was staring out towards the plains. She 
wondered what was passing in his mind, for he sat like 
a statue, his face turned from her. And suddenly the 
dread loneliness of the mountains gripped her as with 
a chilly hand. It seemed as if they two were alone 
together in all the world. 

She walked over to him. ’m cold, Nick,” she 
said, breaking in upon his silence almost apologeti- 
cally. ‘ ' Shall we go ? ” 

He stretched out a hand to her without turning his 
head, without speaking. But she would not put her 
own within it, for she was afraid. 

After a long pause he gave a sudden sharp sigh, 
and pulled his horse round. ''Eh? Cold? We *11 fly 
down to Annandale. There *s plenty of time before us. 
By the way, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine 
— Daisy Musgrave. Ever heard of her? She and 
Blake Grange are first cousins. You ’ll like Daisy. 
We are great chums, she and I.” 

Muriel had heard of her from Captain Grange. She 
had also once upon a time met Daisy’s husband. 

" I liked him, rather, ” she said. "But I thought he 
must be very young. ” 

"So he is,” said Nick. "A mere infant. He ’s in 
the Civil Service, and works like an ox. Mrs. Mus- 
grave is very delicate. She and the baby were packed 
off up here in a hurry. I believe she has a weak heart. 
She may have to go home to recruit even now. She 
does n’t go out at all herself, but she hopes I will take 
you to see her. Will you come?” 


TKe First FligKt 


87 


Muriel hesitated for a moment. **Nick,’’ she said, 
‘‘are you telling — everybody — of our — engagement?” 

“Of course,” said Nick, instantly. “Why not?” 

She could not tell him, only she was vaguely 
dismayed. 

“I told Lady Bassett yesterday evening,” he went 
on. “ Did n’t she say an3rthing to you? ” 

“Oh, yes. She kissed me and said she was very 
pleased. ” Muriel’s cheeks burned at the recollection. 

“How nice of her!” commented Nick. He shot 
her a sidelong glance. “Dear Lady Bassett always 
says and does the right thing at the right moment. 
It ’s her speciality. That ’s why we are all so fond of 
her.” 

Muriel made no response, though keenly aware 
of the subtlety of this speech. So Nick disliked her 
hostess also. She wondered why. 

“You see,” he proceeded presently, “it is as well to 
be quite open about it as we are going to be married so 
soon. Of course every one realises that it is to be a 
strictly private affair. You need n’t be afraid of any 
demonstration. ’ ’ 

It was not that that had induced her feeling of 
dismay, but she could not tell him so. 

“And Mrs. Musgrave knows?” she questioned. 

“I told her first,” said Nick. “But you mustn’t 
mind her. She won’t commit the fashionable blunder 
of congratulating you.” 

Muriel laughed nervously. She longed to say some- 
thing careless and change the subject, but she was 
feeling stiff and imnatural, and words failed her. 

Nick brought his horse up close to hers, 

“There ’s one thing I want to say to you, Muriel, 
before we go down, ” he said. 


88 TKe Way of an Eagle 

*'0h, what?’’ She turned a scared face towards 
him. 

'‘Nothing to alarm you,” said Nick, frowning at 
her quizzically. " I wanted to say it some minutes ago 
only I was shy. Look here, dear.” He held out to 
her a twist of tissue-paper on the palm of his hand. 
"It ’s a ring I want you to wear for me. There *s a 
message inside it. Read it when you are alone. ” 

Muriel looked at the tiny packet without taking it. 
She had turned very white. " Oh, Nick, ” she faltered 
at last, "are you — are you — quite sure?” 

"Quite sure of what?” questioned Nick. "Your 
mind ? Or my own ? * ’ 

"Don’t!” she begged tremulously. "I can’t laugh 
over this. ” 

"Laugh!” said Nick sharply. And then swiftly 
his whole manner changed. "Yes, it ’s all right, dear,” 
he said, smiling at her. "Take it, won’t you? I am 
— quite — ^sure. ” 

She took it obediently, but her reluctance was still 
very manifest. Nick, however, did not appear to 
notice this. 

"Don’t look at it now,” he said. "Wait till I ’m 
not there. Put it away somewhere for the present, 
and let ’s have another gallop.” 

She glanced at him as she slipped his gift into her 
pocket. "Won’t you let me thank you, Nick?” she 
asked shyly. 

"Wait till you ’ve seen it, ” he returned. "You may 
not think it worth it. Ready? One! Two! Three!” 

In the scamper that followed, the blood surged back 
to her face, and her spirits rose again ; but in her secret 
heart there yet remained a nameless dread that she 
was as powerless to define as to expel. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MESSAGE 


ADY BASSETT was still invisible when Muriel 



L/ returned to the bungalow though breakfast was 
waiting for them on the verandah. She passed quickly 
through to her room and commenced hasty prepara- 
tions for a bath. It had been a good ride, and she re- 
alised that, though tired, she was also very hungry. 

She slipped Nick's gift out of the pocket of her 
riding-habit, but she would not stop to open it then. 
That should come presently, when she had the whole 
garden to herself, and all the leisure of the long summer 
morning before her. She felt that in a sense she owed 
him that. 

But a note that caught her eye lying on the table 
she paused to open and hastily peruse. The writing 
was unfamiliar to her — a dashing, impetuous scrawl 
that excited her curiosity. 

** Dear Miss Roscoe," it ran, — '' Don’t think me an 
unmitigated bore if you can help it. I am wondering 
if you would have the real kindness to waive ceremony 
and pay me a visit this afternoon. I shall be quite 
alone, unless my baby can be considered in the light of 
a social inducement. I know that Nick contemplates 
bringing you to see me, and so he shall, if you prefer it. 
But personally I consider that he would be decidedly 


8o 


90 


TKe Way of an Ea^Ie 


de trop. I feel that we shall soon know each other so 
well that a formal introduction seems superfluous. 
Let me know your opinion by word of mouth, or if not, 
I shall understand. Nick, being of the inferior species, 
could hardly be expected to do so, though I admit that 
he is more generously equipped in the matter of intel- 
lect than most. — Your friend to be, 

‘'Daisy Musgrave.” 

Muriel laid down the letter with a little smile. Its 
spontaneous friendliness was like a warm hand clasp- 
ing hers. Yes, she would go, she decided, as she 
splashed refreshingly in her bath, and that not for 
Nick’s sake. She knew instinctively that she was 
going to discover a close sympathy with this woman 
who, though an utter stranger to her, yet knew how 
to draw her as a sister. And Muriel’s longing for 
such human fellowship had already driven her to 
extremes. 

She had the note in her hand when she finally joined 
Lady Bassett upon the verandah. 

Lady Bassett, though ever-gracious, was seldom at 
her best in the morning. She greeted the girl with a 
faint, wry smile, and proffered her nearest cheek to be 
kissed. 

“ Quite an early bird, dear child ! ” wa^s her comment. 
“ I should imagine Captain Ratcliffe’s visitation 
awakened the whole neighbourhood. I think you 
must not go out again with him before sunrise. I 
should not have advised it this morning if you had 
consulted me. ” 

Muriel flushed at the softly-conveyed reproof. ^*It 
is not the first time,” she said, in her deep voice that 
was always deepest when indignation moved here 


TKe Message 


91 


'^We have seen the sun rise together and the moon rise 
too, before to-day. ” 

Lady Bassett sighed gently. I am sure, dearest, ’’ 
she said, ''that you do not mean to be uncouth or un- 
mannerly, far less — that most odious of all propensities 
in a young girl — forward. But though my authority 
over you were to be regarded as so slight as to be quite 
negligible, I should still feel it my duty to remonstrate 
when I saw you committing a breach of the conven- 
tions which might be grievously misconstrued. I trust, 
dear Muriel, that you will bear my protest in mind and 
regulate your actions by it in the future. Will you 
take coffee?” 

Muriel had seated herself at the other side of the 
table, and was regarding her with wide, dark eyes that 
were neither angry nor ashamed, only quite involun- 
tarily disdainful. 

After a distinct pause she decided to let the matter 
drop, reflecting that Lady Bassett’s subtleties were 
never worth pursuing. 

" I am going to see a friend of Nick’s this afternoon, 
she said presently. "I expect you know her — ^Mrs. 
Musgrave. ” 

Lady Bassett’s forehead puckered a little. It could 
hardly be called a frown. "Have you ever met Mrs. 
Musgrave?” she asked. 

"No, never. But she is Nick’s friend, and of course 
I know her cousin. Captain Grange, quite well.” 

Lady Bassett made no comment upon this. "Of 
course, dear,” she said, "you are old enough to please 
yourself, but it is not usual, you know, to plunge 
into social pleasures after so recent a bereavement as 
yours.” 

The sudden silence that followed this gentle re- 


92 


The Way of an Ea^le 


minder had in it something that was passionatCe 
Mtiriers face turned vividly crimson, and then gradu- 
ally whitened to a startling pallor. 

''It is the last thing I should wish to do,” she said, 
in a stifled voice. 

Lady Bassett continued, softly suggestive. "I say 
nothing of your marriage, dear child. For that, I am 
aware, is practically a matter of necessity. But I do 
think that under the circumstances you can scarcely be 
too careful in what you do. Society is not charitably 
inclined towards those who even involuntarily trans- 
gress its rules. And you most emphatically are not in 
a position to do so wilfully. ” 

She paused, for Muriel had risen unexpectedly to 
her feet. Her eyes were blazing in her white face. 

"Why should you call my marriage a matter of 
necessity?” she demanded. "Sir Reginald told me 
that my father had provided for me.” 

"Of course, of course, dear.” Lady Bassett ut- 
tered a faint, artificial laugh. "It is not a question of 
means at all. But, there, since you are so childishly 
unsophisticated, I need not open your eyes. It is 
enough for you to know that there is a sufficiently 
urgent reason for your marriage, and the sooner it can 
take place, the better. But in the meantime, let me 
counsel you to be as prudent as possible in all that you 
do. I assure you, dear, it is very necessary.” 

Muriel received this little homily in silence. She 
did not in the least understand to what these veiled 
allusions referred, and she decided impatiently that 
they were unworthy of her serious consideration. It 
was ridiculous to let herself be angry with Lady Bas- 
sett. As if it mattered in the least what she said or 
thought! She determined to pay her projected visit 


XHe Message 


93 


notwithstanding, and quietly said so, as she turned at 
length from the table. 

Lady Bassett raised no further remonstrance beyond 
a faint, eloquent lift of the shoulders. And Muriel 
went away into the shady compound, her step firmer 
and her dark head decidedly higher than usual. She 
felt for Nick’s gift as she went, with a little secret sen- 
sation of pleasure. After all, why had she been afraid? 
All girls wore rings when they became engaged to be 
married. 

Reaching her favourite comer, she drew it forth 
from its hiding-place, a quiver of excitement running 
through her. 

She was sitting in the hammock under the pines 
as she unwrapped it. The hot sunshine, glinting 
through the dark boughs overhead, fiashed upon 
precious stones and dazzled her as the wisp of tissue- 
paper fell from her hand. 

And in a moment she was looking at an old marquise 
ring of mbies in a setting of finely- wrought gold. Her 
heart gave a throb of sheer delight at the beauty of 
the thing. She slipped it impetuously on to her finger, 
and held it up to the sunlight. 

The rubies shone with a deep lustre — red, red as 
heart’s blood, ardent as flame. She gazed and gazed 
with sparkling, fascinated eyes. 

Suddenly his words flashed into her mind. A mes^ 
sage inside it ! She had been so caught by the splen- 
dour of the stones that she had not looked inside. She 
drew the ring from her finger, and examined it closely, 
with burning cheeks. 

Yes, there was the message — three words engraved 
in minute, old-fashioned characters inside the gold 
band. They were so tiny that it took her a long time 


94 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


to puzzle them out. With difficulty at length she 
deciphered the quaint letters, but even then it was 
some time before she grasped the meaning that they 
spelt. 

It flashed upon her Anally, as though a voice had 
spoken into her ear. The words were: omnia vincit 
AMOR. And the ring in her hand was no longer the 
outward visible sign of her compact. It was a love- 
token, given to her by a man who had spoken no word 
of love- 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE VOICE OF A FRIEND 

you didn’t bring Nick after all. That was 
O nice of you,” said Daisy Musgrave, with a 
little, whimsical smile. **I wanted to have you all 
to myself. The nicest of men can be horribly in the 
way sometimes.” 

She smiled upon her visitor whom she had placed in 
the easiest chair and in the pleasantest corner of her 
drawing-room. Her pretty face was aglow with friend- 
liness. No words of welcome were needed. 

Muriel was already feeling happier than she had felt 
for many, many weary weeks. It had been an effort 
to come, but she was glad that she had made it. 

^^It was kind of you to ask me,” she said, though 
of course I know that you did it for Nick’s sake. ” 
^*You are quite wrong,” Daisy answered instantly. 
‘*He told me about you, I admit. But after that, I 
wanted you for your own. And now I have got you, 
Muriel, I am not going to stand on ceremony the least 
bit in the world. And you must n’t either; but I can 
see you won’t. Your eyes are telling me things al- 
ready. I don’t get on with stiff people somehow. 
Lady Bassett calls me effusive. And I think myself 
there must have been something meteoric about my 
birth star. Doubtless that is why I agree so well with 
Nick. He ’s meteoric, too. ” She slipped cosily down 
.95 


96 


The Way of an Ea^le 


upon a stool by Muriel’s side. He ’s a nice boy, is n’t 
he?” she said sympathetically. ‘‘And is that his 
ring? Ah, let me look at it! I think I have seen it 
before. No, don’t take it off I That ’s unlucky. ” 

But Muriel had already drawn it from her finger. 
“It ’s beautiful,” she said warmly. “Do you know 
anything about it? It looks as if it had a history. ” 
“It has,” said Daisy. “I remember now. He 
showed it to me once when I was staying at his 
brother’s house in England. I know the Ratcliffes 
well. My husband used to live with them as a boy. 
It came from the old maiden aunt who left him all 
his money. She gave it to him before she died, I 
believe, and told him to keep it for the woman he 
was sure to love some day. Nick was an immense 
favourite of hers.” 

“But the ring?” urged Muriel. 

Daisy was frowning over the inscription within it, 
but she was fully aware of the soft colour that had 
flooded the girl’s face at her words. 

“Omnia vincit amor,” she read slowly. “That is 
it, is n’t it? Ah, yes, and the history of it. It ’s 
rather sad. Do you mind?” 

“I am used to sad things,” Muriel reminded her, 
with her face turned away toward the mountains. 

Daisy pressed her hand gently. “It is a French 
ring,” she said. “It belonged to an aristocrat who 
was murdered in the Reign of Terror. He sent it by 
his servant to the girl he loved from the steps of the 
guillotine. I don’t know their names. Nick did n’t 
tell me that. But she was English.” 

Muriel had turned quickly back. Her interest was 
aroused. “Yes,” she said eagerly, as Daisy paused- 
“And she?” 


THe Voice of a Friend 


97 


**She!” Daisy’s voice had a sudden hard ring in it. 
'‘She remained faithful to him for just six months. 
And then she married an Englishman. It was said 
that she did it against her will. Still she did it. 
Luckily for her, perhaps, she died within the year — 
when her child was bom.” 

Daisy rose abruptly and moved across the room. 
“That was more than a hundred years ago,” she said, 
“and women are as great fools still. If they can’t 
marry the man they love — they ’ll marry — anything. ” 

Muriel was silent. She felt as if she had caught 
sight of something that she had not been intended to 
see. 

But in a moment Daisy came back, and, kneeling 
beside her, slipped the ring on to her finger again. 
“Yet love conquers all the same, dear,” she said, 
passing her arm about the girl. “And yours is going 
to be a happy love story. The ring came finally into 
the possession of the lady’s grandson, and it was he 
who gave it to Nick’s aunt — the maiden aunt. It 
was her engagement ring. She never wore any other, 
and she only gave it to Nick when her fingers were too 
rheumatic to wear it any longer. Her lover, poor boy, 
was killed in the Crimea. There! Forgive me if I 
have made you sad. Death is not really sad, you 
know, where there is love. People talk of it as if it 
conquered love, whereas it is in fact all the other way 
round. Love conquers death.” 

Muriel hid her face suddenly on Daisy’s shoulder. 
“Oh, are you quite sure?” she whispered. 

“I am quite sure, darling. ” The reply was instant 
and full of conviction. “It doesn’t need a good 
woman to be quite sure of that. Over and over again 
it has been the only solid thing I have had to hold by© 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


I 've clung to it blindly in outer darkness, God only 
knows how often. 

Her arms tightened about Muriel, and she fell 
silent. For minutes the room was absolutely quiet. 
Then Muriel raised her head. 

'‘Thank you,’’ she whispered. “Thank you so 
much.” 

Her eyes were full of tears as her lips met Daisy’s, 
but she brushed them swiftly away before they fell. 

Daisy was smiling at her. “Come,” she said, “I 
want to show you my baby. He is just the wee-est bit 
fractious, as he is cutting a tooth. The doctor says he 
will be all right, but he still threatens to send us both 
to England. ” 

“And you don’t want to go?” questioned Muriel. 

Daisy shook her head. “I want to see my cousin 
Blake,” she said lightly, “when he comes marching 
home again. Did you hear the rumour that he is to 
have the V.C.? They ought to give it to Nick, too, 
if he does.” 

“ Oh, I should n’t think so. Nick did n’t do any- 
thing. At least,” Muriel stumbled a little, “nothing 
to be proud of. ” 

Daisy laughed and caught her face between her 
hands. “ Except save his girl from destruction,” she 
said. “Doesn’t that count? Oh, Muriel, I know 
exactly what made him want you. No, you need n’t 
be afraid. I ’m not going to tell you. Wild horses 
sha’n’t drag it from me. But he ’s the luckiest man in 
India, and I think he knows it. What lovely hair you 
have ! I ’ll come round early on your wedding-day and 
do it for you. And what will you wear? It must n’t 
be a black wedding whatever etiquette may decree. 
You look too pathetic in black, and it ’s a barbarous 


THe Voice of a Friend 


99 


custom anyway. I have warned my husband fairly 
that if he goes into mourning for me, I 11 never speak 
to him hereafter again. He is coming up to see us 
next week, and to discuss our fate with the doctor. 
Have you ever met Will?’’ 

''Once,” said Muriel. "It was at a dance at 
Poonah early last summer. ” 

"Ah ! When I was at Mahableshwar. He is a good 
dancer, is n’t he? He does most things well, I think. ” 
Daisy smiled tolerantly as she indicated the photo- 
graph of a boy upon the mantelpiece. "He is n’t six- 
teen, ” she said; "he is nearly twenty-eight. Now 
come and see his son and the light of my eyes. ” She 
linked her arm in Muriel’s, and, still smiling, led her 
from the room. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE POISON OF ADDERS 

T he week that followed that first visit of hers was 
a gradual renewal of life to Muriel. She had 
come through the darkest part of her trouble, and, 
thick though the shadows might still lie about her, 
she had at last begun to see light ahead. She went 
again and yet again to see Daisy, and each visit added 
to her tranquillity of mind. Daisy was wonderfully 
brisk for an invalid, and her baby was an endless 
source of interest. Even Lady Bassett could not cavil 
when her charge spoke of going to nursery tea at Mrs. 
Musgrave’s. She made no attempt to check the ripen- 
ing friendship, though Muriel was subtly aware that 
she did not approve of it. 

She also went every morning for a headlong gallop 
with Nick who, in fact, would take no refusal in the 
matter. He came not at all to the house except for 
these early visits, and she had a good many hours to 
herself. But her health was steadily improving, and 
her loneliness oppressed her less than formerly. She 
spent long mornings lying in the hammock under the 
pines with only an occasional monkey far above her to 
keep her company. It was her favourite haunt, and 
she grew to look upon it as exclusively her own. 
There was a tiny rustic summer-house near it, which 
no one ever occupied, so far as she knew. Moreover, 

IOC 


THe Poison of Adders 


lOI 


the hammock had been decorously slung behind it, so 
that even though a visitor might conceivably pene- 
trate as far as the arbour, it was extremely unlikely 
that the hammock would come into the range of 
discovery. 

Even Lady Bassett had never sought her here, her 
time being generally quite fully occupied with her 
countless social engagements. Muriel often wondered 
that that garden on the mountainside in which she 
revelled seemed to hold so slight an attraction for its 
owner. But then of course Lady Bassett was so 
much in demand that she had little leisure to admire 
the beauties that surrounded her. 

Growing daily stronger, Muriel’s half-childish panic 
regarding her approaching marriage as steadily dimin- 
ished. She enjoyed her rides with Nick, becoming 
daily more and more at her ease with him. They 
seldom touched upon intimate matters. She wore his 
ring, and once she shyly thanked him for it. But he 
made no further reference to the words engraved with- 
in it, and she was relieved by his forbearance. 

Nick, on his part, was visiting Daisy Musgrave every 
day, and sedulously imbibing her woman’s wisdom. 
He had immense faith in her insight and her intuition, 
and when she entreated him to move slowly and With- 
out impatience he took a sterner grip of himself and 
resolutely set himself to cultivate the virtue she urged 
upon him. 

^'You must n’t do anything in a hurry,” Daisy as- 
sured him, “either before your marriage or after. She 
has had a very bad shock, and she is only just getting 
over it. You will throw everything back if you try 
to precipitate matters. She is asleep, you know, Nick, 
and it is for you to waken her, but gradually — oh, very 


102 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


gradually — or she will start up in the old nightmare 
terror again. If she does n’t love you yet, she is very 
near it. But you will only win her by waiting for her. 
Never do anything sudden. Always remember what 
a child she is, though she has outgrown her years. 
And children, you know, though they will trust those 
they love to the uttermost, are easily frightened. ” 

Nick knew that she was right. He knew also that 
he was steadily gaining ground, and that knowledge 
helped him more than all Daisy’s counsels. He was 
within sight, so he felt, of the great consummation of 
all his desires, and he was drawing daily nearer. 

Their wedding-day was little more than a week away. 
He had already made full preparation for it. It was 
to be as quiet a ceremony as it was possible to arrange. 
Daisy Musgrave had promised to be there, and he ex- 
pected her husband also. Lady Bassett, whose pre- 
sence he realised with a grimace to be indispensable, 
would complete the wedding-party. 

He had arranged to leave Simla directly the service 
was over, and to go into Nepal. It would not be his 
first visit to that most wonderful country, and it held 
many things that he desired to show her. He expected 
much from that wedding journey, from the close com- 
panionship, the intimacy that must result. He would 
teach her first beyond all doubting that she had no- 
thing to fear, and then — then at last, as the reward of 
infinite patience, he would win her love. His blood 
quickened whenever he thought of it. Alone with her 
once more among the mountains, in perfect security^ 
surrounded by the glory of the eternal snows, so he 
would win her. They would come back closely united, 
equipped to face the whole world hand-in-hand, so 
joined together that no shadow of evil could ever come 


XHe Poison of Adders 103 

between them any more. For they would be irrevoc- 
ably made one. Thus ran the current of his splendid 
dream, and for this he curbed himself, mastered his 
eagerness, controlled his passion. 

On the day that Daisy's husband arrived, he con- 
siderately absented himself from their bungalow, know- 
ing how the boy loved to have his wife to himself. He 
had in consequence the whole afternoon at his disposal, 
and he contemplated paying a surprise visit to his be- 
trothed. He had ridden with her that morning, and 
he did not doubt that she was to be found somewhere 
in Lady Bassett's compound. So in fact she was, and 
had he carried out his first intention, he would have 
explored behind the summer-house and found her in 
her retreat. But he did not after all pay his projected 
visit. A very small matter frustrated his plans — a 
matter of no earthly importance, but which he always 
looked upon afterwards as a piece of the devil's own 
handiwork. He remembered some neglected cor- 
respondence, and decided to clear it off. She would 
not be expecting him, possibly she might not welcome 
his intrusion. And so, in consequence of that rigid 
self-restraint that he v/as practising, he suffered this 
latter reflection to sway him in the direction of his 
unanswered letters, and sat down to his writing-table 
with a strong sense of virtue, utterly un .auspicious of 
the evil which even at that moment was (drawing near 
imperceptibly but surely to the girl he loved. 

She was lying in her hammock with an unread book 
on her knees. It was a slumberous afternoon, making 
for drowsiness. The mountains were wrapped in a 
vague haze, and the whole world was very still. Very 
far overhead, the pines occasionally whispered to one 
another, but below there was no movement, save when 


104 


TKe "Way of an Ea^le 


a lizard scuttled swiftly over the pine-needles, and once 
when an enquiring monkey-face peered at her round 
the red bole of a pine. 

It was all very restful, and Muriel was undeniably 
sleepy. She had ridden farther than usual with Nick 
that morning, and it did not take much to tire her. 
Lady Bassett had gone to a polo-match, she knew, and 
she luxuriated in undisturbed solitude. It lay all 
about her like a spell of enchantment. With her cheek 
pillowed on her hand she presently floated into serene 
slumber. It was like drifting down a tidal river into 
a summer sea .... 

Her awakening was abrupt, almost startling. She 
felt as if some one had touched her, though she realised 
in a moment that this was impossible; for she was 
still alone. No one was in sight. Only from the 
arbour a few feet away there came the sound of voices, 
and the tinkle of tea-cups. 

Visitors evidently! Lady Bassett had returned 
and brought back a couple of guests with her. She 
frowned impatiently over the discovery, realising that 
she was a prisoner unless she elected to show herself. 
For her corner behind the summer-house was bounded 
by the wall of the compound, and there was no retreat 
save by the path that led to the bungalow, and this 
wound in front of the arbour itself. 

It was very annoying, but there was no help for it. 
She knew very few people in Simla, and neither of the 
voices that mingled with Lady Bassett’s was familiar 
to her. It did not take her long to decide that she had 
no desire for a closer acquaintance with their owners. 
One was a man’s voice, sonorous and weighty, that 
sounded as if it were accustomed to propound mighty 
problems from the pulpit. The other was a woman’s, 


TKe Poison of -Adders 105 

high-pitched as the wail of a cat on a windy night, 
that caused the listening girl to nestle back on her 
pillow with the instant resolution to remain where she 
was until the intruders saw fit to depart, even if by so 
doing she had to forego her tea. 

She opened her book with an unwarrantable feeling 
of resentment. Of course Lady Bassett could not 
know she was there, and of course she was at liberty to 
go whither she would in her own garden. But no one 
likes to have their cherished privacy invaded even in 
ignorance. And Lady Bassett might surely have con- 
cluded that she would be out somewhere under the 
pines. 

Well, they probably would not stay for long, and 
she was in no hurry. With a faint sigh of lingering 
annoyance she began to read. 

But the piercing, feline voice soon pounded flail-like 
into her consciousness, scattering her thoughts with 
ruthless insistence. 

^'Of course,” it asserted, was the only thing he 
could possibly do. No man with any decent feeling 
could have done otherwise. But it was a little hard 
on him. Surely you agree with me there?” 

Lady Bassett’s voice, soft and precise, made answer. 
^'Indeed I think he has behaved most generously in 
the matter. As you say, it would have been but a 
gentleman’s duty to make an offer of marriage, con- 
sidering all the circumstances. But he went further 
than that. He actually insisted upon the arrangement. 
I suppose he felt bound to do so as the poor child’s 
father had placed her in his charge. She is quite un- 
formed still, and is very far from realising her grave 
position. Indeed, I scarcely expected her to accept 
him without the urgent reason for the match being ex- 


The Way of an Ea^le 


io6 

plained to her; for it is quite obvious that she does 
not care for him in that way. Poor child, she is 
scarcely old enough to know the true meaning of love. 
It is very sad for them both. 

A gentle sigh closed the sentence. Muriel’s book 
had slid down upon a cushion of pine-needles. She 
had raised herself in the hammock, and was staring 
at the rustic woodwork of the summer-house as though 
she saw a serpent twining there. 

There followed a brief silence. Then came the 
man’s voice, deliberate and resounding. 

‘‘I am sure it must have caused you much anxiety, 
dear Lady Bassett. With my knowledge of Nicholas 
Ratcliffe I confess that I should have felt very grave 
misgivings as to whether he were endowed with the 
chivalry to fulfil the obligation he had incurred. My 
esteem for him has increased fourfold since I heard of 
his intention to shoulder his responsibilities thus cour- 
ageously. I had not deemed him capable of such 
a sacrifice. I sincerely trust that he will be given 
strength to carry it through worthily.” 

”I shall not feel really easy till they are married,” 
confessed Lady Bassett. 

**Ah!” The sonorous voice broke in again with 
friendly reproof. ‘‘But — ^pardon me — does not that 
indicate a certain lack of faith. Lady Bassett? Since 
the yotmg man has been led to see that the poor girl 
has been so sadly compromised, surely we may trust 
that he will be enabled to carry out his engagement. 
I consider it doubly praiseworthy that he has taken 
this action on his own initiative. I may tell you in 
confidence that I was seriously debating with myself 
as to whether it were not my duty to approach him on 
the subject. But the news of his engagement relieved 


The Poison of -Adders 


107 


me of all responsibility. It is no doubt something of 
a sacrifice to a man of his stamp. We can only trust 
that he will be duly rewarded.*' 

Here the shrill, feline voice suddenly made itself 
heard, tripping in upon the deeper tones without cere- 
mony. 

‘‘Oh, but poor Nick! I can’t picture him mar- 
ried and done for. He has always been so gay. 
Why, look at him with Daisy Musgrave! I know 
for a fact that he goes there every day at least, and 
she refusing to receive any one else. I call it quite 
scandalous. ” 

“My dear! My dear!” It was Lady Bassett’s 
turn to reprove. “Not quite every day surely 

“I do assure you that is n’t the smallest exaggera- 
tion, ” protested her informant. “I had it from Mrs. 
Gybbon-Smythe who never misstates anything. It 
was she who first told me of this engagement, and she 
considered that Nick was positively throwing himself 
away. A mere chivalrous fad she called it, and de- 
clared that it would simply ruin his prospects. For 
it is well known that married ofiicers are almost in- 
variably passed over by the powers that be. And he 
is regarded as so promising too. Really I am almost 
inclined to agree with her. Just a little more tea, dear, 
if I may. Your tea is always so delicious, and doubly 
so out here under the pines.” 

The soft jingling of tea-cups ensued, and through 
it presently came Lady Bassett’s gentle tones. They 
soimded as if she were smiling. 

“Well, all I can say is, I was unspeakably relieved 
when I heard that Captain Ratcliffe had decided to 
treat the matter as a point of honour and marry dear 
Muriel. She is a sweet girl and I am devoted to her, 


io8 XKe of an £agle 

which made it doubly hard for me. For I should 
scarcely have dared to venture, after what has hap- 
pened, to ask any of my friends to receive her. 
Naturally, she shrinks from speaking of that terrible 
time, but I understand that she spent no less than 
three nights alone in the mountains with him. And 
that fact in itself would be more than sufficient to 
blight any girl’s career from a social standpoint. I 
often think that the rules of our modem etiquette are 
very rigid, though I know well that we cannot afford 
to disregard them.” Again came that soft, regretful 
sigh; and then in an apologetic tone, ^'‘You will 
say, I know, that for the good of the community 
this must be so, but you are great enough to make 
allowances for a woman’s weakness. And I must 
confess that I cannot but feel the pity of it in such a 
case as this. ” 

Indeed, Lady Bassett, I think your feminine 
weakness does you credit, ” was the kind response this 
elicited. ''We must all of us sympathise most deeply 
with the poor little wanderer, who, I am well assured, 
coffid not be in better hands than she is at the present 
moment. Your protecting care must, I am convinced, 
atone to her in a very great measure for all that she has 
been called upon to undergo.” 

"So sweet of you to say so!” murmured Lady Bas- 
sett. "Words cannot express my reluctance to ex- 
plain to her the actual state of affairs, or my relief 
that I have been able to avoid doing so with a clear 
conscience. Ah! Your cup is empty! Will you let 
me refill it? No? But you are not thinking of leaving 
me yet, surely?” 

"Ah, but indeed we must. We are dining with the 
Boltons to-night, and going afterwards to the Parkers* 


TKe Poison of Adders 109 

dance. You will be there of course? How delightful! 
Then we shall soon meet again. 

The penetrating voice was accompanied by the 
sounds of a general move, and there ensued the usual 
interchange of compliments at departure, Lady Bas- 
sett protesting that it had been so sweet of her friends 
to visit her, and the friends assuring her of the im- 
mense pleasure it had given them to do so. All the 
things that are never said by people who are truly inti- 
mate with each other were said several times over as 
the little party moved away. Their voices receded into 
the distance, though they continued for a while to 
prick through the silence that fell like a velvet curtain 
behind them. 

Finally they ceased altogether. The summer-house 
was empty, and an enterprising monkey slipped down 
the trunk of a tree and peered in. But he was a ner- 
vous beast, and he had a feeling that the place was not 
so wholly devoid of human presence as it seemed. He 
approached cautiously, gibbering a little to himself. 
It looked safe enough, and there was some dainty con- 
fectionery within. But, uneasy instinct still urging 
him, he deemed it advisable to peer round the comer 
of the summer-house before he yielded to the prompt- 
ings of a rapacious appetite. 

The next instant his worst fears were realised, and 
he was scudding up the nearest tree in a panic. 

There, on the groimd, face downwards on the pine- 
needles, lay a human form. True, it was only a 
woman lying there. B; her silence and her stillness 
were eloquent of tragedy even to his monkey-intelli- 
gence. From a safe height he sat and reviled her till 
he was tired for having spoilt liis sport Finally, 
as she made no movement, he forgot his grievance, 


no TKe "Way of an Ea^le 

and tripped airily away in quest of more thrilling 
adventures. 

But the woman remained prone upon the grotmd 
for a long, long time. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE SUMMONS 

N ICK’S fit of virtue evaporated with his third 
letter, and he got up, feeling that he had spent 
an unprofitable afternoon. He also discovered that 
he was thirsty, and while quenching his thirst he de- 
bated with himself whether he would after all stroll 
round to the Musgraves. He and Will were old 
school-fellows, and the friendship between them was 
of the sort that wears forever. He was moreover dis- 
satisfied with regard to Daisy’s appearance, and he 
wanted to know the doctor’s verdict. 

He had just decided to chance his welcome and go, 
when a note was brought to him which proved to be 
from Will himself. 

^^Dear old Nick,” it ran, — have been wanting 
to shake your hand ever since I heard of your gallant 
return from the jaws of death. Well done, old chap, 
if it is n’t a stale sentiment! 

‘‘Will you come and dine with us? Do thy dili- 
gence, for though we are neither of us the best of com- 
pany, we both want you. The doctor has ordered 
Daisy and the youngster home. They are to leave 
before the chota-bursat. Damn the chota-bursat^ and 
the whole beastly show! — Yoiu^ ever, 

“Will ” 

111 


II2 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


Nick considered this outburst with a sympathetic 
frown, and at once despatched an answer in the affirm- 
ative. He had almost expected the news. It had 
been quite plain to him that Daisy was not making 
any progress towards the recovery of her strength. Her 
quick temperament would not allow her to be listless, 
but he had not been deceived. And he was glad that 
Will had come up at length to see for himself. 

It was horribly unlucky for them both, he reflected, 
for he knew that Will could not accompany his wife to 
England. And the thought presently flashed across 
him, — How would it go with him if he ever had to 
part with Muriel in that way? Having once possessed 
her, could he ever bear to let her go again? Would he 
not rather relinquish his profession for her sake, dear 
though it was to him? He had made her his own by 
sheer dogged effort. He had planned for her, fought 
for her, suffered for her, — almost he had died for her. 
Now that she was his at last, he knew that he could 
never let her go. 

He turned impetuously to a calendar on his writing- 
table, and ticked off another day. There were only 
six left before his wedding-day. He coimted them 
with almost savage exultation. Finally he tossed 
down the pencil with a sudden, quivering laugh, and 
stood up with wide-flung arms. She was his — his — • 
his ! No power or force of circumstance could ever 
come between them now. He would trample every 
obstacle underfoot. 

But there were no obstacles left. He had overcome 
them all. He had won her fairly; and the reward of 
patience was very near. 

For the first time he slackened the bonds of his self- 
restraint; and instantly the fire of his passion leapt 


TTHe Siammons 


113 

up, free and fierce, overflowing its confines in a wide- 
spread, molten stream that carried all before it. 

When later he departed to keep his engagement, 
he was as a man treading upon air. Not a dozen 
yards from the gate one of Lady Bassett’s servants 
met him and presented a note. He guessed it was 
from Muriel, and the blood rose in a hot wave to his 
head and pounded at his temples as he opened it. It 
was the first she had ever written to him. 

must see you at once, — M.” 

That was all. He dismissed the waiting native, and 
returned to his room. There he wrote a note to Will 
Musgrave warning him that he had been delayed. 

Then he suddenly straightened himself and stood 
tense. Something had happened. He was sure of it. 
That urgent summons rang in his brain like a cry for 
help. Some demand was about to be made upon him, 
a demand which he might find himself ill-equipped to 
meet. He was not lacking in courage. He could 
meet adversity without a quiver. But for once he 
was not siire of himself. He was not prepared to 
resist any sudden strain that night. 

Several minutes passed before he moved. Then, 
glancing down, he saw her message fast gripped in his 
hand. With a swift, passionate movement he carried 
the paper to his lips. And he remembered suddenly 
how he had once held her hand there and breathed 
upon the little cold fingers to give them life. He had 
commanded himself then. Was he any the less his 
own master now? And was he fool enough to destroy 
all in a moment that trust of hers which he had built 
up so laboriously? He felt as if a fiend had ensnared 
8 


The "Way of an Ea^le 


1 14 

him, and with a fierce effort he broke free. Surely he 
was torturing himself in vain. She had only sent for 
him to explain that she could not ride with him in the 
morning, or some other matter equally trifling. He 
would go to her at once since she had desired it, and 
set her mind at rest on whatever subject happened to 
be troubling it. 

And so with steady tread he left the house once 
more. She had called him for the first time. He 
would not keep her waiting. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE ORDEAL 



'HE drawing-room was empty when he entered it, 


1 the windows standing flung wide to the night. 
Strains of dance music were wafted in from somewhere 
lower down the hill, and he guessed that Lady Bassett 
would be from home. The pine-trees of the compound 
stood black and silent. There seemed to be a hush of 
expectancy in the air. 

He stood with his back to the room and his face to 
the mountains. The moon was still below the horizon, 
but stars blazed everywhere with a marvellous bright- 
ness. It was a night for dreams, and he thought with 
a quickening heart of the nights that were coming 
when they two would be alone once more among the 
hills, no longer starved and fleeing for their lives, but 
wandering happily together in an enchanted world 
where the past was all forgotten, and the future 
gleamed like the peaks of Paradise. 

At sound of a quiet footfall, he turned back into the 
room. Muriel had entered and was closing the door 
behind her. At first sight he fancied that she was ill, 
so terribly did her deep mourning and heavy hair 
emphasise her pallor. But as she moved forward he 
reassured himself. It was growing late. Doubtless 
she was tired. 

He went impetuously to meet her, and in a moment 


Ii6 


THe "Way^ of an Ea^le 


he had her hands in his ; but they lay in his grasp cold 
and limp, with no responding pressure. Her great 
eyes, as they looked at him, were emotionless and dis- 
tant, remote as the lights of a village seen at night 
across a far-reaching plain. She gave him no word or 
smile of welcome. 

A sudden dark suspicion flashed through his brain, 
and he drew her swiftly to the light, looking at her 
closely, searchingly. 

^‘What have you been doing?’' he said. 

She fathomed his suspicion, and faintly smiled. 
‘‘Nothing — nothing whatever. I have never touched 
opium since the night you ’ ’ 

He cut in sharply, as if the reminiscence hurt him. 
“ I beg your pardon. Well, what is it then? There ’s 
something wrong.” 

She did not contradict him. Merely with a slight 
gesture of weariness, she freed herself and sat down. 

Nick remained on his feet, looldng down at her, 
waiting grimly for enlightenment. 

It did not come very readily. Seconds had passed 
into minutes before she spoke, and then her words did 
not bear directly upon the matter in hand. 

“I hope it was quite convenient to you to come 
to-night. I was a little afraid you would have an 
engagement.” 

He remembered the urgency of her stimmons and 
decided that she spoke thus conventionally to gain 
time. On another occasion he might have humoured 
such a whim, but to-night it goaded him almost beyond 
endurance. Surely they had passed that stage, he 
and she. 

With an effort he controlled himself, but it sounded 
in his voice as he made reply. 


Xhe Ordeal 


I17 

‘'My engagement to you stands before any other. 
What is it you want to say to me?” 

Her expression changed slightly at his words, and 
a shade of apprehension flitted across her face. She 
threw him a swift upward glance, half-scared, half- 
questioning. Unconsciously her hands locked them- 
selves together. 

“I want you not to be vexed, Nick,” she said, in a 
low voice. 

He made an abrupt movement. “My dear girl, 
don’t be silly. What ’s the trouble? Let me hear it 
and have done. ” 

His tone was reassuring. She looked up at him 
with more confidence. 

“Yes, I am silly,” she acknowledged. “I ’m per- 
fectly idiotic to fancy for a moment that it can make 
any difference to you. Nick, I have been thinking 
things over seriously, and — and — I find that I can’t 
marry you after all. I hope you won’t mind, though 
of course — ” she uttered a little laugh that was pite- 
ously insincere — “I know you will feel bound to say 
you do. But — anyhow — you need n’t say it to me, be- 
cause I understand. I thought it was only fair to let 
you know at once. ” 

“Thank you, ” said Nick, and there was that in his 
voice which was like the sudden snapping of a tense 
spring. 

She saw his hands clench with the words, and an 
overwhelming sense of danger swept over her. In- 
stinctively she started to her feet. If a tiger had 
leapt in upon her through the window she could not 
have been more terrified. 

Nick took a single stride towards her, and she 
stopped as if struck powerless. His face was the face 


Ii8 TKe Way of an Ea^le 

she had once seen bent over a man in his death-agony, 
convulsed with passion, savage, merciless, — the face of 
a devil. 

She shrank away from him in nameless terror, gasp- 
ing and panic-stricken. ^^Nick,’’ she whispered, '‘are 
you — ^mad?'' 

He answered her jerkily in a strangled voice that 
was like the snarl of a beast. "Yes — I am mad. If 
you try to nm away from me now — I won’t answer for 
myself. ” 

She gazed at him with widening eyes. "But, but — ” 
she faltered — " I — I don’t understand. Oh, Nick, you 
frighten me!” 

It was the cry of a child, lost, bewildered, piteous. 
Had she withstood him, had she sought to escape, the 
demon in him would have burst the last restraining 
bond, and have shattered in one moment of unshackled 
violence all the chivalrous patience which diuing the 
last few weeks he had spent his whole strength to 
achieve. 

But that cry of desolation pierced straight through 
his madness, cutting deeper than reproach or protest, 
wounding him to the heart. 

With a sound that was half-sob, half-groan, he 
turned his back upon her and covered his face. 

For a space of seconds he stood so, not moving, 
seeming not even to breathe. And Muriel, steadying 
herself by the mantelpiece, watched him with a pant- 
ing heart. 

Then abruptly, moving with a quick, light tread 
that made no sound, he crossed the room to one of the 
wide-flung windows and stopped there. 

From across the quiet garden there came the strains 
of "The Blue Danube,” fitful, alluring, plaintive — • 


THe Ordeal 


II9 

that waltz to which countless lovers have danced and 
wooed and whispered through the years. Muriel 
longed intensely to shut it out, to stop her ears, to 
make some noise to drown it. Her nerves were all on 
edge, and she felt as if its persistent sweetness would 
drive her mad. 

Surely Nick felt the same; but if he did, he made 
no sign. He stood without movement with his face 
to the night, gripping the woodwork of the window 
with both hands, every bone of them standing out in 
sharp, skeleton lines. 

She watched him, fascinated, for a long time, but 
he did not stir from his tense position. He seemed to 
have utterly forgotten her presence in the room behind 
him. And still that maddening waltz kept on and on 
and on till she felt sick and dazed with listening to it. 
It seemed as if for the rest of her life she would never 
again be free from those haunting strains. 

The soft shutting of the window made her start and 
quiver. Nick had moved at last, and her heart be- 
gan to throb thick and fast as he turned. She tried to 
read his face, but she could not even see it. There was 
a swimming , mist before her eyes, and her limbs felt 
powerless, heavy as lead. 

In every nerve, she felt him drawing near, and in 
an agony of helplessness she awaited him, all the 
surging horror of that night when he had drugged her 
rushing back upon her with tenfold force. Again she 
saw him as she had seen him then, monstrous, silent, 
terrible, a man of superhuman strength, whose mas- 
tery appalled her. Again in desperate fear she 
shrank from him, seeking wildly, fruitlessly, for a 
way of escape. 

And then came the consciousness of his arm about 


120 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


her, supporting her; and the voice that /had quieted 
her wildest delirium was speaking in her ear. 

The goblins are all gone, dear, ” she heard him say. 

Don’t be frightened. ” 

He led her gently to a sofa and made her sit down, 
bending over her and softly rubbing her cold cheek. 

‘‘Tell me when you ’re better,” he said, “and we ’ll 
talk this thing out. But don’t be frightened an3rway. 
It ’s all right.” 

The tenderness of voice and touch, the sudden ces- 
sation of all tension, the swift putting to flight of her 
fear, all combined to produce in her a sense of relief 
so immense that the last shred of her self-control went 
from her utterly. She laid her head down upon the 
cushions and burst into a storm of tears. 

Nick’s hand continued to stroke and soothe, but 
he said no more while her paroxysm of weeping lasted. 
He who was usually so ready of speech, so quick to 
console, found for once no words wherewith to comfort 
her. 

Only when her distress had somewhat spent itself, 
he bent a little lower and dried her tears with his own 
handkerchief, his lips twitching as he did it, his eyes 
flickering so rapidly that it was impossible to read their 
expression. 

“There!” he said at last. “There’s nothing to 
cry about. Finish what you were saying when I 
interrupted you. I think you were in the middle of 
throwing me over, were n’t you? At least, you had 
got through that part of it, and were just going to tell 
me why.” 

His tone was reassuringly flippant. 

Looking up at him, she saw the old kindly, quizzical 
look on his face. He met her eyes, nodding shrewdly. 


XHe Ordeal 


I2I 


‘‘Let’s have it,” he said, ‘^straight from the 
shoulder. You ’re tired of me, eh?” 

She drew back from him, but with no gesture of 
shrinking. ’m tired of everything — everything,” 
she said, a little passionate quiver in her voice. ”I 
wish — I wish with all my heart, you had left me to die. ” 

'^Is that the grievance?” said Nick. He sat down 
on the head of the sofa, and drove his fist into the 
cushion. 'Hf I could explain things to you, I would. 
But you ’re such a chicken, are n’t you, dear, and 
about as easily scared? Since when have you har- 
boured this grudge against me?” 

The gentle banter of his tone did not deceive her 
into imagining that she could trifle with him, nor was 
she addicted to trifling. She made answer with a 
certain warmth of indignation that seemed to have 
kindled on its own initiative and wholly without her 
volition. 

I have n’t, I don’t. I ’m not so absurd. It is n’t 
that at all.” 

‘'You ’re not tired of me?” queried Nick. 

“No.” 

“If I were to die to-morrow for instance — and 
there ’s no telling, you know, Muriel, — you ’d be a little 
sorry?” 

Again, though scarcely aware of it, she resented the 
question. “Why do you ask me that? Of course I 
should be sorry.,” 

“Of course,” acquiesced Nick. “But all the king’s 
horses and all the king’s men would n’t bring me back 
again. That ’s the worst of being mortal. You can’t 
dance at your own funeral.” 

“What do you mean?” There was a note of 
exasperation in Muriel’s voice. She saw that he had 


122 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


an object in view, but his method of attaining it was 
too tortuous for her straightforward understanding. 

He explained himself with much patience. His 
mood had so completely changed that she could barely 
recall to mind the vision that had so appalled her but 
a few minutes before. 

“What I mean is that it ’s infernal to think that 
some one may be shedding precious tears on your grave 
and you not there to see. I Ve often wondered if one 
could get a ticket of leave for such an occasion.” He 
smiled down at her with baffling directness. “I 
should value those tears unspeakably,” he said. 

Muriel made a slight movement of impatience. The 
discussion seemed to her inconsequent and unprofit- 
able. 

Nick began to enumerate his points. “You ’re not 
tired of me — though I see I ’m boring you hideously; 
put up with it a little longer, I ’ve nearly finished — and 
you ’d shed quite a respectable number of tears if I 
were to die young. Yes, I am young though as ugly 
as Satan. I believe you think I ’m some sort of con- 
nection, don’t you? Is that why you don’t want to 
marry me?” 

He put the question with startling suddenness, and 
Muriel glanced up quickly, but was instantly reas 
sured. He was no more formidable at that moment 
than a grinning schoolboy. Still she did not feel 
wholly at her ease with him. She had a curious 
suspicion that he was in some fashion testing her. 

“No,” she answered, after a moment. “It is 
nothing of that sort.” 

“ Quite sure there is a reason? ” he asked quizzically. 

Her white cheeks flushed. “Yes, of course. But 
•'-I would rather not tell you what it is.” 


XKe Ordeal 


123 


** Quite so,” said Nick. suppose that also is 
•only fair7” 

Her colour deepened. He made her feel unaccount- 
ably ashamed. will tell you if you wish to know,” 
she said reluctantly. ^'But I would rather not.” 

Nick made an airy gesture. ''Not for the world! 
My intelligence department is specially fitted for this 
sort of thing. Besides, I know exactly what hap- 
pened. It was something like this.” He passed his 
hand over his face, then turned to her with a faint, wry 
smile so irresistibly reminiscent of Lady Bassett that 
Muriel gasped with a sudden hysterical desire to laugh. 

He silenced her by beginning to speak in soft, purr- 
ing accents. "You know darling Muriel, I have 
never looked upon Nicholc .0 Ratcliffe as a marrying 
man. He is such a gay butterfly.” (This with an 
indulgent shake of the head.) "Indeed, I have heard 
dear Mrs. Gybbon-Smythe describe him as a shocking 
little flirt. And they say he is fond of his glass too, 
but let us hope this is an exaggeration. I know for 
a fact that he has a very violent temper, and this may 
have given rise to the rumour. I assure you, dearest, 
he is quite formidable, notwithstanding his size. But 
there, if I tell you any more you will think I am preju- 
diced against him, whereas we are really the greatest 
friends — the greatest possible friends. I only thought 
it kind to warn you not to expect too much. It is a 
mistake so many young girls make, and I want you to 
be as happy as you can, poor child. ” 

Muriel was laughing helplessly when he stopped. 
The mimicry of voice and action was so perfect, so 
free from exaggeration, so sublimely spontaneous. 

Nick did not laugh with her. Behind his mask of 
banter he was watching, watching closely. He had 


124 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


clad himself in jester’s garb to feel for the truth. Per- 
haps she realised something of this as she recovered 
herself, for again that glance, half -questioning, half- 
frightened, flashed up at him as she made reply. 

No, Nick. She never said that, indeed. I would n’t 
have cared if she had. It was only — only ’ ’ 

''I know,” he broke in abruptly. ''If it wasn’t 
that, there is only one thing left that it could have 
been. I don’t want you to tell me. It ’s as plain as 
daylight. Let me tell you instead. It ’s all for the 
sake of your poor little personal pride. I know — yes, 
I know. They ’ve been throwing mud at you, and it ’s 
stuck. You ’d sooner die than marry me, would n’t 
you? But what will you do if I refuse to set you 
free?” 

She turned suddenly crimson. ^'You — you 

would n’t, Nick! You could n’t! You have n’t — 
the right.” 

"Haven’t I?” said Nick, with an odd smile. "I 
thought I had.” 

He looked down at her, and a queer little flame 
leaped up like an evil spirit in his eyes, flickered an 
instant, and was gone. "I thought I had,” he said 
again, in a different tone. "But we won’t quarrel 
about that. Tell me what you want to do. ” 

Her answer came with a vehemence that perhaps 
he had hardly expected. "Oh, I want to get away — 
right away. I want to go home. I — I hate this 
place. ” 

"And every one in it?” suggested Nick. 

"Almost. ” Muriel spoke recklessly, even defiantly. 
She was fighting for her freedom, and the battle was 
infinitely harder than she had anticipated. 

He nodded. "The sole exception being Mrs. 


THe Ordeal 


125 

Musgrave. Do you know Mrs. Musgrave is going 
home? You would like to go with her.’’ 

Muriel looked at him with sudden hope. ‘‘Alone 
with her?” she said. 

“Oh, I ’m not going,” declared Nick. “I ’m going 
to Khatmandu for my honeymoon.” 

The hope died out of Muriel’s eyes. “Don’t — 
jeer at me, Nick,” she said, in a choked voice. “I 
can’t bear it.” 

“Jeer!” said Nick. “I!” He reached down sud- 
denly and took her hand. The light sparkled on the 
ring he had given her, and he moved it slowly to and 
fro watching it. 

“I am going to ask you to take it back,” she 
said. 

He did not raise his eyes. “And I am going to re- 
fuse, ” he answered promptly. “I don’t say you must 
wear it, but you are to keep it — not as a bond, merely 
in remembrance of a promise which you will make to 
me. 

“A promise — ” she faltered. 

Still he did not look up. He was watching the 
stones with eyes half-shut. 

“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “I will let you 
go on the sole condition that you give me this 
promise.” 

She began to tremble a little. “What is it? ’’she 
whispered. 

He glanced at her momentarily, but his expression 
was enigmatical. She felt as if his look lighted and 
dwelt upon something beyond her. 

“Simply this, ” he said. “You ’ll laugh, I daresay; 
but if you are able to laugh it won’t hurt you to 
promise. I want your word of honour that if you 


126 


TKe W'ay of an Ea^le 


ever change your mind about marrying me, you will 
come to me like a brave woman and tell me so. 

Thus, quite calmly, he made known to her his con- 
dition, and in the amazed silence with which she re- 
ceived it he continued to flash hither and thither the 
wonderful rays that shone from the gems upon her 
hand. He did not appear to be greatly concerned as 
to what her answer would be. Simply with an in- 
scrutable cotmtenance he waited for it. 

^Hs it a bargain?” he asked at last. 

She started with an involuntary gesture of shrink- 
ing. ^*0h, no, Nick! How could I promise you that? 
You know I shall never change my mind.” 

He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. ‘‘That 
is n’t the point under discussion. If it ’s an impossible 
contingency, it costs you the less to promise.” 

He kept her hand in his as he said it, though she 
fidgeted to be free. “ Please, Nick, ” she said earnestly, 
“ I would so much rather not. ” 

“You prefer to marry me at once?” he asked, and 
suddenly it seemed to her that this was the alternative 
to which he meant to drive her. 

She rose in a panic, and he rose also, still keeping 
her hand. His face looked like a block of yellow 
granite. 

“Must it — ^must it — ^be one or the other?” she 
panted. 

He looked at her under flickering eyelids. “I have 
said it,” he remarked. 

Her resistance flagged, sank, rose again, and finally 
died away. After all, why should she hesitate? 
What was there in such an undertaking as this to send 
the blood so wildly to her heart? 

“Very well,” she said faintly at last. “I promise# 


THe Ordeal 


127 

But — but — I never shall change my mind, Nick — 
never — ^never. 

He was still looking at her with veiled, impenetrable 
eyes. He paid no attention to her protest. It was 
as if he had not so much as heard it. 

You’ve done your part,” he said. “Now hear 
me do mine. I swear to you — before God — that I will 
never marry you unless you ask me to.” 

He bent with the words, and solemnly, reverently, 
he pressed his lips upon the hand he held. 

Muriel waited, half-frightened still, and wholly 
awestruck. She did not know Nick in this mood. 

But when he straightened himself again, the old 
whimsical smile was on his face, and she breathed a 
sigh of relief. With a quick, caressing movement he 
took her by the shoulders. 

“That ’s over then,” he said lightly. “Turn over 
and start another page. Go back to England, go back 
to school; and let them teach you to be young again. ” 

They were his last words to her. Yet an instant 
longer he waited, and very deep down in her heart 
something that was hidden there stirred and quivered 
as a blind creature moves at the touch of the sun. It 
awoke a vague pain within her, that was all. 

The next moment Nick had turned upon his heel and 
was departing. 

She heard him humming a waltz tune under his 
breath as he went away with his free British swagger. 
And she knew with no sense of elation that she had 
gained her point. 

For good or ill he had left her, and he would not 
return. 


PART III 


CHAPTER XVII 


AN OLD FRIEND 


HERE!’’ said Daisy, standing back from the 



1 table to review her handiwork with her head 
on one side. may be outrageously childish, but if 
Blake fails to appreciate this masterpiece of mine, I 
shall feel inclined to turn him out-of-doors, and leave 
him to spend the night on the step. ’’ 

Muriel, curled up in the old-fashioned window-seat, 
looked round with her low laugh. “ It ’s snowing hard, ’ ' 
she remarked. 

Daisy did not heed her. ‘‘Come and look at it/^ 
she said. 

The masterpiece in question consisted of an enor- 
mous red scroll bearing in white letters the words: 
“Welcome to the Brave.’' 

“It never before occurred to me that Blake was 
brave,” observed Daisy. “He is so shy and soft and 
retiring. I can’t somehow feel as if I am going to 
entertain a lion. He ought to be here by this time. 
Let ’s go and hang my work of art in the hall. ” 

She slipped her hand through Muriel’s arm, and 
glanced at her sharply when she felt it tremble. 

“It will be good to see him again, won’t it?” she 
said. 


X28 


An Old Friend 


129 


Yes, Muriel agreed, but there was a little tremor 
in her voice as well. 

Very vividly were the circumstances under which 
she had last seen this man in her mind that nights 
Eight months that were Hke as many years stretched 
between that tragic time and the present, but the old 
wild horror had still the power to make her blood turn 
cold, the old wound had not lost its ache. These 
things had made a woman of her before her time, but 
yet she was not as other women. It seemed that she 
was destined all her life to live apart, and only to look 
on at the joys of others. They did not attract her, 
and sheiiad no heart for gaiety. Y et she was not cold, 
or Daisy had not found in her so congenial a com- 
panion. But even Daisy seldom penetrated behind 
the deep reserve that had grown over the girl's sad 
young heart. They were close friends, but their 
friendship lay mainly in what they left unsaid. For 
all her quick warmth, Daisy too had her inner shrine — 
a place so secret that she herself never entered it save 
as it were by stealth. 

But something of Muriel's mood she understood on 
that bitter night in January on which they awaited 
the coming of Blake Grange, and her close hand- 
pressure conveyed as much as they passed out to- 
gether into the little hall that glowed so snugly in the 
firelight. 

''He is sure to be frozen, poor boy," she said. "I 
hope Jim Ratcliffe won’t forget to send the motor to 
the station as he promised." 

" I am quite sure he never forgets anything, " Muriel 
declared, with reassuring confidence. 

Daisy laughed lightly. " Yes, he 's very dependable^ 
deliciously solid, is n't he? A trifle domineering per- 


9 


130 THe Way of an Ela^le 

haps, but all doctors are. They rule us weak women 
with a rod of iron. I am a little afraid of Dr. Jim my- 
self, and most unfortunately he knows it.” 

Muriers silence expressed a certain scepticism that 
provoked another laugh from Daisy. She was almost 
frivolously light-hearted that night. 

‘‘It ’s a fact, I assure you. Have you never noticed 
how docile I am in his presence? I always feel as if 
I want to confess all my sins to him. I should like 
intensely to have his opinion upon some of them. I 
think it would do me good.” 

“Then why not ask for it?” suggested Muriel. 

“For the reason aforementioned — a slavish timid- 
ity.” Daisy broke off to carol a few bars of a song. 
“I Ve known the Ratcliffe family ever since I became 
engaged to Will, ” she said presently. “Jim Ratcliffe, 
you know, was left his guardian, and he was always 
very good to him. Will made his home with them and 
he and Nick are great pals, just like brothers. I 
should think Dr. Jim had his hands full with the two 
of them. ” Again Daisy stopped to sing. Muriel was 
stooping over the fire. It was seldom that Nick’s 
name was mentioned between them, though the fact 
that Daisy had placed herself and her baby in the 
hands of his half-brother formed a connecting link 
which could not always be ignored. She always 
dropped into silence when a reference was made to 
him. Not in the most casual conversation had Daisy 
ever heard her utter his name. 

Having successfully fixed her message of welcome in 
a prominent position, she joined the girl in front of the 
fire. Her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. 
Muriel thought that she had never seen her look so 
well or so happy. 


An Old Friend 


X3I 

**You ’re quite excited,” she said. 

Daisy put up a hand to her hot cheek. Yes, is n’t 
it absurd? I hope Dr. Jim won’t come with him, or he 
will be cross. But I can’t help it. Blake and I have 
been chums all our lives, and of course I am glad to see 
him after all this while. So nice, too, not to have 
Lady Bassett looking on.” 

There was a spice of venom in this, over which 
Muriel smiled in her sad way. 

'‘Does she disapprove?” she asked. 

Daisy nodded impatiently. "She chose altogether 
to overlook the fact that we are first cousins. It was 
intolerable. But — ” again came her light laugh — 
"everything is intolerable till you learn to shrug your 
shoulders and laugh. Hark! Surely I heard some- 
thing!” 

> Both listened intently. Footsteps were approach- 
ing the door. Daisy sprang to open it. 

But it was only the evening post, and she came 
back holding a letter with a very unwonted expression 
of disappointment. 

" From Will, ” she said. " I forgot it was mail night. 
I don’t suppose there is anything very exciting in it.” 

She pushed the flimsy envelope into the front of her 
dress and fell again to listening. 

" Can he have missed the train? Surely it ’s getting 
very late. A fog on the line perhaps. No! What’s 
that? Ah! It really is this time. That ’s the horn, 
and, yes, Jim Ratclifie’s voice.” 

In a moment she had the door open again, and was 
out upon the step crying welcome to her guest. 

Muriel crouched a little lower over the fire. Her 
hands were fast gripped together. It was more of an 
ordeal than she had thought it possibly could be. 


THe Way of an Haggle 


132 

An icy blast blew in through the open door, and she 
heard Dr. Ratcliff e’s voice, sharp and curt, ordering 
Daisy back into the house. Then came another voice, 
slow and soft as a woman’s, and for an instant Muriel 
covered her face, overwhelmed by bitter memory. 

When she looked up they were entering the hall 
together, Daisy, radiant, eager, full of breathless 
questioniner Blake, upright, soldierly, magnificent, 
wearing the shy, pleased smile that she so well 
remembered. 

He did not at once see her, and she stood hesitating, 
till Daisy, who was clinging to her cousin’s arm, turned 
swiftly round and called her. 

Muriel, dear, where are you? Why are you hiding 
yourself? See, Blake ! Here is Muriel Roscoe! You 
knew we were living together?” 

He saw her then, and came across to her, with both 
hands outstretched. 

‘‘Forgive me. Miss Roscoe,” he said, with his 
pleasant smile, “You know how glad I am to meet 
you again. ” 

He looked down at her with eyes full of frank and 
friendly sympathy, and the grasp of his hands was such 
that she felt it for long after. It warmed her through 
and through, but she could not speak just then, and 
with ready understanding he turned back to Daisy. 

“Dr. Ratcliffe told me you had sent him to fetch 
me from the station,” he said. “I am immensely 
grateful to you and to him.” 

Daisy was greeting the doctor with much animation 
and a hint of mischief. 

“I knew you would come,” she laughed. “You 
never trust me to take care of myself, do you?” 

He brushed some flakes of snow from her dress# 


An Old Friend 


133 


** Events prove me to be justified, ” he remarked dryly* 
Since Will has put you in my care, I labour under 
a twofold responsibility. What possessed you to go 
out in that murderous north-easter?'^ 

He frowned at her heavily, his black brows meeting, 
but notwithstanding her avowal of a few minutes be- 
fore, Daisy only grimaced in return. He was generally 
regarded as somewhat formidable, this gruff, square- 
shouldered doctor, with his iron-grey hair and black 
moustache, and keenly critical eyes. There was no 
varnish in his curt speech, no dissimulation in any of 
his dealings. It was said of him that he never sugared 
his pills. But his popularity was wide-spread never- 
theless. His help was sought in a thousand ways out- 
side his profession. To see his strong face melt into a 
smile was like sunshine on a gloomy day, the village 
mothers declared. 

But Daisy 's gay effrontery did not manage to pro- 
voke it at that moment. 

‘‘You have no business to take risks," he said. 
“How 's the boy?" 

Daisy sobered instantly. “His teeth have been 
worrying him rather to-day. Ayah is with him. I 
left her crooning him to sleep. Will you go up?" 

Jim Ratcliff e nodded and turned aside to the stairs. 
But he had not reached the top when Muriel overtook 
him, moving more quickly than was her wont. 

“Let me come with you, doctor," she said. 

He put his hand on her arm unceremoniously. 
“ Miss Roscoe, " he said, “ I have a message for you — ■ 
from my scapegrace Olga. She wants to know if you 
will play hockey in her team next Saturday. I have 
promised to exert my influence — if I have any — on her 
behalf." 


134 


TKe Way of an Ha^le 


Muriel looked at him in semi-tragic dismay. 

I can’t indeed. Why, I have n’t played for ages, — not 
since I was at school. Besides ” 

‘‘How old are you?” he cut in. 

“Nearly twenty,” she told him. “But ” 

He brought his hand down sharply on her shoulder. 
“I shall never call you Miss Roscoe again. You ob- 
tained my veneration on false pretences, and you have 
lost it for ever. Now look here, Muriel!” Arrived 
at the top of the stairs, he stood still and confronted 
her with that smile of his that so marvellously softened 
his rugged face. “I am thirty years older than you 
are, and I have n’t lived for any part of them with my 
eyes shut. I ’ve been wanting to give you some advice 
— ^medical advice — for a long time. But you would n’t 
have it. And now I ’m not going to offer it to you. 
You shall take the advice of a friend instead. You 
join Olga’s hockey team, and go paper-chasing with 
her too. . The monkey is a rare sportswoman. She ’ll 
give you a good run for your money. Besides, she has 
set her heart on having you, and she is a young woman 
that likes her own way, though, to be sure, she does n’t 
always get it. Come, you can’t refuse when a friend 
asks you. ” 

It was difficult, certainly, but Muriel plainly desired 
to do so. She had escaped from the whirling vortex 
of life wi^h strenuous effort, and dragged herself 
bruised and aching to the bank. She did not want to 
step down again into even the minutest eddy of that 
ruthless flood. Moreover, in addition to this morbid 
reluctance she lacked the physical energy that such a 
step demanded of her. 

“It ’s very kind of your little daughter to think of 
asking me,” she said. “But reaUy, I should n’t be 


An Old Friend 


135 


any good. I get tired so quickly. No, there *s no- 
thing the matter with me,’’ seeing his intent look. 

I ’m not ill. I never have been actually ill. Only — 
her voice quivered a little — “I think I always shall be 
tired for the rest of my life. ” 

'‘Skittles!” he returned bluntly. “That isn’t 
what ’s the matter with you. Go out into the open air. 
Go out into the north-east wind and sweep the snow 
away. Shall I tell you what is wrong with you? 
You ’re stiff from inaction. It ’s a species of cramp, 
my dear, and there ’s only one remedy for it. Are you 
going to take it of your own accord, or must I come 
round with a physic spoon and make you?” 

She laughed a little, though the deep pathos of her 
shadowed eyes never varied. Daisy’s merry voice 
rose from the lower regions gaily chaffing her cousin. 

“Goodness, Blake! I should n’t have known you. 
You ’re as gaimt as a camel. Have n’t you got over 
your picnic at Fort Wara yet? You ’re almost as 
scanty a bag of bones as Nick was six months ago.” ; 

Blake’s answer was inaudible. Dr. Ratcliffe did not 
listen for it. He had seen the swift look of horror 
that the brief allusion had sent into the girl’s sad face, 
and he understood it though he made no sign. 

“Very well,” he said, turning towards the nursery. 
“Then I take you in hand from this day forward. 
And if I don’t find you in the hockey-field on Saturday, 
I shall come myself and fetch you. ” 

There was nothing even vaguely suggestive of Nick 
about him, but Muriel knew as surely as if Nick had 
said it that he would keep his word. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE EXPLANATION 

"^NTOW,*’ said Daisy briskly, ‘‘you two will just 
1 N have to entertain each other for a little while, 
for I am going up to sit with my son while ayah is oflE 
duty/* 

‘‘Mayn’t we come too?” suggested her cousin, as 
he rose to open the door. 

She stood a moment and contemplated him with 
shining eyes. “You are too magnificent altogether 
for this doll’s house of ours,” she declared. “I am 
sure this humble roof has never before sheltered such 
a lion as Captain Blake Grange, V.C. ” 

“Only an ass in a lion’s skin, my dear Daisy,” said 
Grange modestly. 

She laughed. “An excellent simile, my worthy 
cousin. I wish I had thought of it myself. ” 

She went lightly away with this thrust, and Grange, 
after a brief pause, turned slowly back into the room. 

Muriel was seated in a low chair before the fire. 
She was working at some tiny woollen socks, knitting 
swiftly in dead silence. 

He moved to the hearthrug, and stood there, obvi- 
ously ill at ease. A certain sh3mess was in his nature, 
and Muriel’s nervousness reacted upon him. He did 
not know how to break the silence. 

136 


XKe E^xplanation 


137 


At length, with an effort, he spoke. ^'You heard 
about Nick Ratcliffe’s wound, I expect, Miss Roscoe?” 

Muriel’s hands leapt suddenly and fell into her lap. 
‘‘Nick Ratcliffe! When was he wounded? No, I 
have heard nothing.” 

He looked down at her with an uneasy suspicion 
that he had lighted upon an unfortunate subject. 

“I thought you would have heard,” he said. 
“Didn’t Daisy know? He came back to us from 
Simla — got himself attached to the punitive expedi- 
tion. I was on the sick list myself, so did not see 
him, but they say he fought like a dancing dervish, 
and did a lot of damage too. Every one thought he 
would have the V.C., but there was a rumour that he 
refused it. ” 

“And — he was wounded, you say? ” Muriel’s voice 
sounded curiously strained. Her knitting lay jumbled 
together in her lap. Her dark face was lifted, and it 
seemed to Grange, unskilled observer though he was, 
that he had never seen deeper tragedy in any woman’s 
eyes. 

Somewhat reluctantly he made reply. “He had 
his arm injured by a sword-thrust at the very end of 
the campaign. He made light of it for ever so long till 
things began to look serious. Then he had to give in, 
and had a pretty sharp time of it, I believe. He ’s 
better again now, though, so his brother told me this 
evening. I never heard any details. I daresay he ’s 
all right again. ” He stooped to pick up a completed 
sock that had fallen. ‘^He ’s the sort of chap who 
always comes out on top, ” he ended consolingly. 

Muriel stiffened a little as she sat. She had a curi- 
ous longing to hear more, and an equally curious 
reluctance to ask for it. 


138 TKe Way of an Ha^le 

never heard anything about it — naturally,” sh^ 
remarked. 

Grange, having fitted the sock on to two fingers, 
was examining it with a contemplative air. It struck 
her abruptly that he was trying to say something. 
She waited silently, not without apprehension. She 
had no idea as to how much he knew of what had 
passed between herself and Nick. 

say. Miss Roscoe,” he blurted out suddenly, 
“do you hate talking about these things — very badly, 
I mean?” 

She looked up at him, and was surprised to see 
emotion on his face. It had an odd effect upon her, 
placing her unaccountably at her ease with him, banish- 
ing all her stiffness in a moment. She remembered 
with a quick warmth at her heart how she had always 
liked this man in those far-off days of her father’s 
protection, how she had always found something reas- 
suring in his gentle courtesy. 

“No,” she said, after a moment, speaking with 
absolute sincerity. “I can’t bear to with — ^most 
people; but I don’t think I mind with you. ” 

She saw his pleasant smile for an instant. He laid 
the sock down upon her knee, and in doing so touched 
and lightly pressed her hand. 

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I know I ’m not 
good at expressing myself, but please believe that I 
would n’t hurt you for the world. Miss Roscoe, I 
have brought some things with me I think you will 
like to have — things that belonged to your father. Sir 
Reginald Bassett entrusted them to me — left them, in 
fact, in my charge, as he found them. I was coming 
home, and I asked leave to bring them to you. Per- 
haps you would like me to fetch them?” 


THe Explanation 


139 


■ She was on her feet as he asked the question, on her 
face such a look of eagerness as it had not worn for 
many weary months. 

^^Oh, please — if you would!” she said, her words 
falling fast and breathless. ” It has been — such a grief 
to me — that I had nothing of his to — to treasure. ” 

He turned at once to the door. The desolation that 
those words of hers revealed to him went straight to 
his man’s heart. Poor little girl! Had the parting 
been so infernally hard as even now to bring that look 
to her eyes? Was her father’s memory the only in- 
terest she had left in her sad young life? And all the 
evening, save for that first brief moment of their meet- 
ing, he had been thinking her cold, impassive, even 
cynical. 

With a deep pity in his soul he departed on his 
errand. 

Returning with the soft tread which was his peculi- 
arity, he surprised her with her face in her hands in an 
attitude of such abandonment that he drew back 
hesitating. But, suddenly aware of him, she sprang 
up swiftly, with no sign of tears upon her face. 

‘*Oh, come in, come in!” she said impatiently. 

Why do you stand there?” 

She ran forward to meet him with hands hungrily 
outstretched, and he put into them those trifles which 
were to her so infinitely precious — a cigarette-case, a 
silver match-box, a pen-knife, a little old prayer-book 
very worn at the edges, with all the gilt faded from its 
leaves. She gathered them to her breast closely, pas- 
sionately. All but the prayer-book had been her 
gifts to the father she had worshipped. With a 
wrung heart she called to mind the occasion upon 
which each had been offered, his smile of kindly 


140 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


appreciation, the old-world courtliness of his thanks. 
With loving hands she laid them down one by one, 
lingering over each, seeing them through a blur of 
tears. She was no longer conscious of Grange, as rever- 
ently, even diffidently, she opened last of all the little 
shabby prayer-book that her father had been wont to 
take with him on all his marches. She knew that he 
had cherished it as her mother’s gift. 

It opened upon a scrap of white heather which 
marked the Service for the Burial of the Dead. Her 
tears fell upon the faded sprig, and she brushed her 
hand swiftly across her eyes, looking more closely as 
certain words underlined caught her attention. Other 
words had been written by her father’s hand very 
minutely in the margin. 

The passage underlined was . . .“not to be sorry 
as men without hope, for them that sleep ...” and 
in a moment she guessed that her father had made that 
mark on the day of her mother’s death. It was like 
a message to her, the echo of a cry. 

The words in the margin were so small that she had 
to carry them to the light to read them. And then they 
flashed out at her as if sprung suddenly to light on the 
white paper. There, in the beloved handwriting, sure 
and indelible, she read it, and across the desert of her 
heart, voiceless but insistent, there swept the hunger- 
cry of a man’s soul: Omnia vincit amor. 

It pulsed through her like an electric current, seem- 
ing to overwhelm every other sensation, shutting her 
off as it were from the home-world to which she had 
fled, how fruitlessly, for healing. Once more skeleton 
Angers held hers, shifting to and fro, to and fro, slowly, 
ceaselessly, flashing the deep rays that shone from ruby 
hearts hither and thither. Once more — But she 


TKe Explanation 141 

would not bear it ! She was free ! She was free ! She 
flung out the hand that once had worn those rubies^ 
and, resisting wildly, broke away from the spell that 
the words her father had written had woven afresh for 
her. 

It might be true that Love conquered all things — 
he had believed it — but ah, what had this uncanny 
force to do with Love? Love was a pure, a holy thing, 
the bond imperishable — the Eternal Flame at which 
all the little torches of the world are lighted. 

Moreover, there was no fear in Love, and she — she 
was sick with fear whenever she encountered that 
haunting phantom of memory. 

With a start she awoke to the fact that she was not 
alone. Blake Grange had taken her out-flimg hand, 
and was speaking to her softly, soothingly. 

Don’t grieve so awfully. Miss Roscoe,” he urged, 
a slight break in his own voice. ^^You ’re not left 
friendless. I know how it is. I ’ve felt like it myself. 
But it gets better afterwards. ” 

Muriel suffered him with a dawning sense of com- 
fort. It surprised her to see tears in his eyes. She 
wondered vaguely if they were for her. 

‘‘ Yes, ” she said, after a pause. It does get better, 
I know, in a way. Or at least one gets used to an 
empty heart. One gets to leave off listening for what 
one will never, never hear any more.” 

‘‘Never is a dreary word,” said Grange. 

She bent her head silently, and again his heart over- 
flowed with pity for her. He looked down at the hand 
that lay so passively in his. 

“ I hope you will always think of me as a friend, ” he 
said. 

She looked up at him a quick gleam of grati- 


142 


XHe Way of an Ea^le 


tude in her eyes. '‘Thank you,” she said. ‘‘Yes, 
always.’’ 

He still held her hand. "You know,” he said, 
blundering awkwardly, "I always blamed myself 
that — that I was n’t the one to be with you when you 
escaped from Wara. I might have been. But I — I 
was n’t prepared to pay the possible price.” 

She was still looking at him with those aloof, tragic 
eyes of hers. "I don’t quite understand,” she said, 
"I never did understand — exactly — why Nick was 
chosen to protect me. I always wished it had been 
you.” 

"It ought to have been,” Grange said, with feeling. 
"It should have been. I blame myself. But Nick 
is a better fighter than I. He keeps his head. More- 
over, he ’s a savage in some respects. I was n’t sav- 
age enough. ” 

He smiled with a hint of apology. 

Muriel repressed a shudder at his words. "I don’t 
understand,” she said again. 

He hesitated. "It ’s a difficult thing to explain to 
you,” he said reluctantly. "You see, the fellow who 
took charge of you had to be prepared for — ^well — 
anything. You know what devils those tribesmen are. 
There was to be no chance of your falling into their 
hands. It did n’t mean just fighting for you, you 
understand. We would all have done that to the 
last drop of our blood. But — your father — was 
forced to ask of us — something more. And only 
Ratcliffe would undertake it. He ’s a queer chap. 
I used to thinlc him a rotter till I saw him fight, and 
then I had to change my mind. That was, I believe, 
the main reason why General Roscoe selected him as 
your protector. He knew he could trust the fellow’s 


The Elxplanationi 143 

nerve. The rest of us were like women compared to 
Nick.’^ 

He paused. Muriel’s eyes had not flinched from 
his. She heard his explanation as one not vitally 
concerned. 

*‘Have I made myself intelligible?” he asked, as 
she did not speak. 

^*Do you mean I was to be shot if things went 
wrong?” she returned, in her deep, quiet voice. 

He nodded. ''It must have been that. Your 
father saw it in that light, and so did we. Of course 
you are bound to see it too. But we stuck at it — 
Marshall and I. There was only Nick left, and he 
volunteered. ” 

‘‘Only Nick left!” she repeated slowly. “Nick 
would stick at nothing. Captain Grange.” 

“I honestly don’t think he would,” said Grange. 
“Still, you know, he’s awfully plucky. He would 
have gone any length to save you first.” 

She drew back with a sudden shrinking of her whole 
body. “Oh, I know, I know!” she said. “I some- 
times think there is a devil in Nick. ” 

She turned aside, bending once more over her 
father’s things, putting them together with unsteady 
fingers. So this was the answer to the riddle — the 
secret of his choice for her ! She understood it all now. 

After a short pause, she spoke again more calmly. 
“Did Nick ever speak to you about me?” 

“Never,” said Grange. 

“Then please. Captain Grange” — she stood up 
again and faced him — “never speak to me again 
about him. I — want to forget him.” 

Very young and slight she looked standing there, 
and again he felt his heart stir within him with ay 


144 


TKe "Way of an Ea^le 


urgent pity. Vague rumours he had heard of those 
few weeks at Simla during which her name and Nick 
Ratcliffe’s had been coupled together, but he had never 
definitely known what had taken place. Had Nick 
been good to her, he wondered for the first time? How 
was it that the bare mention of him was unendurable 
to her? What had he done that she should shudder 
with horror when she remembered him, and should 
seek thus with loathing to thrust him out of her life? 

Involuntarily the man’s hands clenched and his 
blood quickened. Had the General’s trust been 
misplaced? Was Nick a blackguard? 

Finding her eyes still upon him, he made her a slight 
bow that was wholly free from gallantry. 

will remember your wish. Miss Roscoe,” he said, 
am sorry I mentioned a painful subject to you, 
though I am glad for you to know the truth. You are 
not vexed with me, I hope?” 

Her eyes shone with sincere friendliness. am 
not vexed,” she answered. ^‘Only — ^let me forget — 
that ’s all. ” 

And in those few words she voiced the desire of her 
soul. It was her one longing, her one prayer — to 
forget. And it was the one thing of all others denied 
to her. 

In the silence that followed, she was conscious of 
his warm and kindly sympathy, and she was grateful 
for it, though something restrained her from telling 
him so. 

Daisy, coming lightly in upon them, put an end to 
their tUe-a-tete, She entered softly, her face alight and 
tender, and laid her two hands upon Grange’s great 
shoulders as he sat before the fire. 

^‘Come upstairs, Blake,” she whispered, ^*and see 


The Explanation 145 

my baby boy. He ’s sleeping so sweetly. I want you 
to see him first while he 's good. 

He raised his face to her, smiling, his hands on hers, 
am sure to admire anything that belongs to you, 
Daisy, he said. 

'‘You ’re a dear old pal,” responded Daisy lightly. 
^'Come along.” 

When they were gone Muriel spied Will Musgrave’s 
letter lying on the ground by Grange’s chair as it had 
evidently fallen from Daisy’s dress. She went over 
and picked it up. It was still unopened. 

With an odd little frown she set it up prominently 
upon the mantelpiece. 

"Does Love conquer after all?” she murmured to 
herself, and there was a faint twist of cynicism about 
her lips as she asked the question. There seemed to 
be so many forms of Love. 

£0 


CHAPTER XIX 


A HERO WORSHIPPER 

Jell played ! Oh, well played ! Miss Roscoe, 
VV you ’re a brick/^ 

The merry voice of the doctor’s little daughter 
Olga, aged fourteen, shrilled across the hockey-ground, 
keen with enthusiasm. She was speeding across the 
field like a hare to congratulate her latest recruit. 

''I ’m so pleased!” she cried, bursting through the 
miscellaneous crowd of boys and girls that surrounded 
Muriel. wanted you to shoot that goal.” 

She herself had been acting as goal-keeper at her own 
end of the field, a position of limited opportunities 
which she had firmly refused to assign to the new-comer. 
A child of unusual character was Olga Ratcliff e, im- 
pulsive but shrewd, with quick, pale eyes which never 
seemed to take more than a brief glance at anything, 
yet which very little ever escaped. At first sight 
Muriel had experienced a certain feeling of aversion 
to her, so marked was the likeness this child bore to 
the man whom she desired so passionately to shut out 
of her very memory. But a nearer intimacy had 
weakened her antipathy till very soon it had alto- 
gether disappeared. Olga had a swift and fascinating 
fashion of endearing herself to all who caught her fancy 
and, somewhat curiously, Muriel was one of the fa- 
voured number. What there was to attract a child 
146 


A Hero “WorsKipper 


14) 


of her qtiick temperament in the grave, silent girl in 
mourning who held aloof so coldly from the rest of the 
world was never apparent. But that a strong attrac- 
tion existed for her was speedily evident, and Muriel, 
who was quite destitute of any near relations of her 
own, soon found that a free admittance to the doctor’s 
home circle was accorded her on all sides, whenever she 
chose to avail herself of it. 

But though Daisy was an immense favourite and 
often ran into the Ratcliffes’ house, which was not more 
than a few hundred yards away from her own little 
abode, Muriel went but seldom. The doctor’s wife, 
though always kind, was too busy to seek her out. And 
so it had been left to the doctor himself to drag her at 
length from her seclusion, and he had done it with a 
determination that would take no refusal. She did 
not know him very intimately, had never asked his 
advice, or held any confidential talk with him. At the 
outset she had been horribly afraid lest he should have 
heard of her engagement to I^Jick, but, since he never 
referred to her life in India or to Nick as in any fashion 
connected with herself, this fear had gradually sub- 
sided. She was able to tell herself thankfully that 
Nick was dropping away from her into the past, and to 
hope with some conviction that the great gulf that 
separated them would never be bridged. 

Yet, notwithstanding this, she had a fugitive wish 
to know how her late comrade in adversity was faring. 
Captain Grange’s news regarding him had aroused in 
her a vague uneasiness, which would not be quieted. 

She wondered if by any means she could extract 
any information from Olga, and this she presently 
essayed to do, when play was over for the day and 
Olga had taken her upstairs to prepare for tea. 


148 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


Olga was the easiest person in the world to deal with 
upon such a subject. She expanded at the very men- 
tion of Nick’s name. 

^*0h, do you know him? Isn’t he a darling? I 
have a photograph of him somewhere. I must try and 
find it. He is in fancy dress and standing on his head — 
such a beauty. Were n’t you awfully fond of him? 
He has been ill, you know. Dad was very waxy be- 
cause he would n’t come home. He might have had 
sick leave, but he would n’t take it. However, he 
may have to come yet. Dad says, if something hap- 
pens. He did n’t say what. It was something to do 
with his wound. Dad wants him to leave the Army 
and settle down on his estate. He owns a big place 
about twelve miles away that an old great-aunt of his 
left him. Dad thinks a landowner ought to live 
at home if he can afford to. And of course Nick 
might go into Parliament too. He ’s so clever, and 
rich as well. But he won’t do it. So it ’s no good 
talking. ” 

Olga jumped off the dressing-table, and wound her 
arm impulsively through Muriel’s. '‘Miss Roscoe,” 
she said coaxingly, " I do like you most awfully. May 
I call you by your Christian name?” 

"Why, do!” Muriel said. "I should like it 
best.” 

"Oh, that ’s all right,” said Olga, well pleased. "I 
knew you were n’t stuck-up really. I hate stuck-up 
people, don’t you? I ’m awfully pleased that you like 
Nick. I simply love him — better almost than any one 
else. He writes to me sometimes, pages and pages. I 
never show them to any one, and he does n’t show 
mine either. You see, we ’re pals. But I can show 
you his photograph — the one I told you about. It ’s 


A Hero "WorsHipper 


149 


just like him — his grin and all. Come up after tea^ 
and I m find it. 

And with her arm entwined in Muriehs she drew 
her, still talking eagerly, from the room. 


CHAPTER XX 


NEWS FROM THE EAST 

r HAVE been wondering,” Grange said in his shy, 

1 rather diffident way, ' ‘ if you would care to do any 
riding while I am here. ” 

Muriel looked up in some surprise. 

They were walking back from church together by a 
muddy field-path, and since neither had much to say 
at any time, they had accomplished more than half 
the distance in silence. 

know you do ride, ” Grange explained, ‘‘and it ’s 
just the sort of country for a good gallop now and 
then. Daisy is n’t allowed to, but I thought perhaps 


“Oh, I should like to, of course,” Muriel said. “I 
have n’t done any riding since I left Simla. I did n’t 
care to alone.” 

“Ah! Lady Bassett rides, does n’t she? She is an 
accomplished horsewoman, I believe?” 

“I don’t know, ” Muriel’s reply was noticeably curt. 
“I never rode with her. ” 

Grange at once dropped the subject, and they be- 
came silent again. Muriel walked with her eyes fixed 
straight before her. But she did not see the brown 
earth underfoot or the bare trees that swayed overhead 
in the racing winter wind. She was back again in the 
heart of the Simla pines, hearing horses’ feet that 
150 


News from tKe East 15I 

stamped below her window in the dawning, and a gay, 
cracked voice that sang. 

Her companion's voice recalled her. “I suppose 
Daisy will stay here for the summer. " 
suppose so," she answered. 

Grange went on with some hesitation. “The little 
chap does n't look as if he would ever stand the Indian 
climate. What will happen? Will she ever consent 
to leave him with the Ratcliffes?" 

“I am quite certain she won't," Muriel answered, 
with unfaltering conviction. “She simply lives for 
him." 

“I thought so," Grange said rather sadly. “It 
would go hard with her if — if " 

Muriel's dark eyes flashed swift entreaty. “Oh, 
don't say it ! Don't think it ! I believe it would kill 
her." 

“She is stronger, though?" he questioned almost 
sharply. 

“Yes, yes, much stronger. Only — ^not strong 
enough for that. Captain Grange, it simply 
couldn't happen." 

They had reached a gate at the end of the field. 
Grange stopped before it, and spoke with sudden, deep 
feeling. 

“If it does happen, Muriel," he said, using her 
Christian name quite unconsciously, “we shall have 
to stand by her, you and I. You won't leave her, 
will you? You would be of more use to her than I. 
Oh, it 's — it 's damnable to see a woman in trouble 
and not be able to comfort her. " 

He brought his ungloved hand down upon the gate- 
post with a violence that drew blood; then, seeing her 
face of amazement, thrust it hastily behind him. 


152 


The of an £a^le 


I 'm a fool, ’’ he said, with his shy, semi-apologetic 
smile. ‘‘Don’t mind me. Miss Roscoe. You know, 
I — I ’m awfully fond of Daisy, always was. My 
people were her people, and when they died we were 
the only two left, as it were. Of course she was mar- 
ried by that time, and there are some other relations 
somewhere. But we ’ve always hung together, she 
and I. You can understand it, can’t you?” 

Muriel fancied she could, but his vehemence startled 
her none the less. She had not deemed him capable 
of such intensity. 

“I suppose you feel almost as if she were your 
sister,” she remarked, groping half-unconsciously for 
an explanation. 

Grange was holding the gate open for her. He did 
not instantly reply. 

Then, “I don’t exactly know what that feels like,” 
he said, with an odd shame-facedness. “But in so 
far as that we have been playfellows and chums all 
our lives, I suppose you might describe it in that 
way.” 

And Muriel, though she wondered a little at the 
laborious honesty of his reply, was satisfied that she 
understood. 

She was drifting into a very pleasant friendship 
with Blake Grange. He seemed to rely upon her in an 
indefinable fashion that made their intercourse of 
necessity one of intimacy. Moreover, Daisy’s habits 
were still more or less those of an invalid, and this fact 
helped very materially to throw them together. 

To Muriel, emerging slowly from the long winter of 
her sorrow, the growing friendship with this man whom 
she both liked and admired was as a shaft of sunshine 
breaking across a grey landscape. Insensibly it was 


News from tKe East 


153 


doing her good. The deep shadow of a horror that 
once had overwhelmed her was lifting gradually away 
from her life. In her happier moments it almost 
seem^ed that she was beginning to forget. 

Grange's suggestion that they should ride together 
awoke in her a keener sense of pleasure than she had 
known since the tragedy of Wara had darkened her 
young life, and for the rest of the day she looked for- 
ward eagerly to the resumption of this her favourite 
exercise. 

Daisy was delighted with the idea, and when on the 
following morning Grange ransacked the town for 
suitable mounts and returned triumphant, she declared 
gaily that she should take no further trouble for her 
guest's entertainment. The responsibility from that 
day forth rested with Muriel. 

Muriel was by no means loth to assume it. They 
got on excellently together, and their almost daily 
rides became a source of keen pleasure to her. Winter 
was fast merging into spring, and the magic of the 
coming season was working in her blood. There 
were times when a sense of spontaneous happiness 
would come over her, she knew not wherefore. Jim 
Ratcliffe no longer looked at her with stem-browed 
disapproval. 

She and Grange both became regular members 
of Olga's hockey team. They shared most of their 
pursuits. Among other things she was learning the 
accompaniments of his songs. Grange had a well- 
cultivated tenor voice, to which Daisy the restless 
would listen for any length of time. 

Altogether they were a very peaceful trio, and 
as the weeks slipped on it almost seemed as if the 
quiet home life they lived were destined to endure 


154 


The "Way of an Ea^le 


indefinitely. Grange spoke occasionally of leaving, 
but Daisy would never entertain the idea for an in- 
stant, and he certainly did not press it very strongly. 
He was not returning to India before September, and 
the long summer months that intervened made the 
date of his departure so remote as to be outside dis- 
cussion. No one ever thought of it. 

But the long, quiet interval in the sleepy little 
country town, interminable as it might feel, was not 
destined to last for ever. On a certain afternoon in 
March, Grange and Muriel, riding home together after 
a windy gallop across open country, were waylaid out- 
side the doctor's gate by one of the Ratcliffe boys. 

The urchin was cheering at the top of his voice and 
dancing ecstatically in the mud. Olga, equally dis- 
hevelled but somewhat more coherent, was seated on 
the gate-post, her long legs dangling. 

“Have you seen Dad? Have you heard?" was her 
cry. “Jimmy, come out of the road. You'll be 
kicked." 

Both riders pulled up to hear the news, Jimmy 
squirming away from the hordes' legs after a fashion 
that provoked even the mild-tempered Grange to a 
sharp reproof. 

“You haven’t heard?" pursued Olga, ignoring her 
small brother's escapade as too trifling to notice at such 
a supreme moment. “But you have n't, of course, if 
you have n't seen Dad. The letter only came an hour 
ago. It 's Nick, dear old Nick! He 's coming home 
at last!" In her delight over imparting the informa- 
tion Olga nearly toppled over backwards, only saving 
herself by a violent effort. “Are n't you glad, Muriel? 
Are n't you glad? " she cried. “ I was never so pleased 
in my life!" 


News from tHe East 


155 


But Muriel had no reply ready. For some reason 
her animal had become suddenly restive, and occupied 
the whole of her attention. 

It was Grange who after a second’s hesitation asked 
for further particulars. What is he coming for? Is 
it sick leave?” 

Olga nodded. ^*He isn’t to stay out there for 
the hot weather. It’s something to do with his 
wotmd. He does n’t want to come a bit. But he 
is to start almost at once. He may be starting 
now.” 

‘'Not likely,” put in Jimmy. “The end of March 
was what he said. Dad said he could n’t be here be- 
fore the third week in April.” 

“Oh, well, that is n’t long, is it?” said Olga eagerly. 
“Not when you come to remember that it ’s three 
years since he went away. I do think they might have 
given him the V.C., don’t you? Captain Grange, why 
has n’t he got the V.C.?” 

Grange could n’t say, really. He advised her to ask 
the man himself. He was observing Muriel with some 
uneasiness, and when she at length abruptly waved her 
whip and rode sharply on as though her horse were 
beyond her control, he struck spurs into his own and 
started in pursuit. 

Muriel passed her own gate at a canter, but hearing 
Grange behind her she soon reined in, and they trotted 
some distance side by side in silence. 

But Grange was still uneasy. The girl’s rigid pro- 
file had that stony, aloof look that he had noted upon 
his arrival weeks before, and that he had come to 
associate with her escape from Wara. 

Nevertheless, when she presently addressed him it 
was in her ordinary tone and upon a subject indifferent 


156 


XKe of an £a^le 


to them both. She had received a shock, he knew, but 
she plainly did not wish him to remark it. 

They rode quite soberly back again, and separated 
at the door. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A HARBOUR OF REFUGE 

'TX) Daisy the news that Grange imparted was more 
1 pleasing than startling. “I knew he would 
come before long if he were a wise man, she said. 

But when her cousin wanted to know what she 
meant, she would not tell him. 

*^No, I can’t, Blake,” was her answer. once 
promised Muriel never to speak of it. She is very 
sensitive on the subject.” 

Grange did not press for an explanation. It was 
not his way. He left her moodily, a frown of deep 
dissatisfaction upon his handsome face. Daisy did 
not spend much thought upon him. Her interests at 
that time were almost wholly centred upon her boy 
who was so backward and delicate that she was 
continually anxious about him. She was, in fact, so 
preoccupied that she hardly noticed at dinner that 
Muriel scarcely spoke and ate next to nothing. 

Grange remarked both facts, and his moodiness 
increased. When Daisy went up to the nursery, he at 
once followed Muriel into the drawing-room. She was 
standing by the window when he entered, a slim, 
straight figure in imrelieved black; but though she 
must have heard him, she neither spoke nor turned her 
head. 

Grange closed the door and came softly forward* 
157 


158 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


There was an unwonted air of resolution about him that 
made him look almost grim. He reached her side and 
stood there silently. The wind had fallen, and the sky 
was starry. 

After a brief silence Miiriel dropped the blind and 
looked at him. There was something of interrogation 
in her glance. 

Shall we go into the garden? ’’ she suggested. It 
is so warm.'' 

He fell in at once with the proposal. You will want 

a cloak," he said. ''Can I fetch you one?" 

"Oh, thanks! Anything will do. I believe there 's 
one of Daisy's in the hall." 

She moved across the room quickly, as one impatient 
to escape from a confined space. Grange followed her. 
He was not smoking as usual. They went out to- 
gether into the warm darkness, and passed side by side 
down the narrow path that wound between the bare 
flower-beds. It was a wonderful night. Once as they 
walked there drifted across them a sudden fragrance 
of violets. 

They reached at length a rustic gate that led into 
the doctor's meadow, and here with one consent they 
stopped. Very far away a faint wind was stirring, but 
close at hand there was no sound. Again, from the wet 
earth by the gate, there rose the magic scent of violets. 

Muriel rested her clasped hands upon the gate, and 
spoke in a voice unconsciously hushed. 

"I never realised how much I liked this place be- 
fore, " she said. "Is n’t it odd? I have been actually 
happy here — and I did n't know it." 

"You are not happy to-night," said Grange. 

She did not attempt to contradict him. "I think 
I am rather tired, " she said. 


A Harboxir of Refuse 159 

‘‘I don’t think that is quite all,” he returned, with 
quiet conviction. 

She moved, turning slightly towards him; but she 
said nothing, though he obviously waited for some 
response. 

For awhile he was discouraged, and silence fell again 
upon them. Then at length he braced himself for an 
effort. For all his shyness he was not without a 
certain strength. 

‘'Miss Roscoe,” he said, “do you remember how 
you once promised that you would always regard me as 
a friend?” 

She turned fully towards him then, and he saw her 
face dimly in the starlight. He thought she looked 
very pale. 

“I do, ” she said simply. 

In a second his diffidence fell away from him. He 
realised that the ground on which he stood was firm. 
He bent towards her. 

“I want you to keep that promise of yours in its 
fullest sense to-night, Muriel,” he said, and his soft 
voice had in it almost a caressing note. “I want you 
— ^if you will — to tell me what is the matter.” 

Muriel stood before him with her face upturned. 
He could not read her expression, but he knew by her 
attitude that she had no thought of repelling him. 

“What is it?” he urged gently. “Won’t you tell 
me?” 

“Don’t you know?” she asked him slowly. 

“I only know that what we heard this afternoon 
upset you,” he answered. “And I don’t understand 
it. I am asking you to explain. ” 

“You will only think me very foolish and absurd.’* 

There was a deep quiver in the words, and he knew 


l6o The Way of an Ea^le 

that she was trembling. Very kindly he laid his hand 
upon her shoulder. 

Can't you trust me better than that?" he asked. 

She did not answer him. Her breathing became 
suddenly sharp and irregular, and he realised that she 
was battling for self-control. 

don't know if I can make you understand," she 
said at last. ''But I will try. " 

"Yes, try!" he said gently. "You won’t find it 
so very difficult." 

She turned back to the gate, and leaned wearily 
upon it. 

"You are very kind. You always have been. I 
could n't tell any one else — not even Daisy. You see, 
she is — his friend. But you are different. I don't 
think you like him, do you?" 

Grange hesitated a little. "I won’t go so far as 
to say that, " he said finally. "We get on all right. I 
was never very intimate with the fellow. I think he 
is a bit callous. " 

"Callous!" Muriel gave a sudden hard shudder.' 
"He is much worse than callous. He is hideously, 
almost devilishly cruel. But — but — he is n’t only 
that. Blake, do you think he is quite human? He is 
so horribly, so unnaturally strong." 

Grange heard the scared note in her voice, and drew 
very close to her. "I think," he said quietly, "that 
— without knowing it — you exaggerate both his cruelty 
and his strength. I know he is a queer chap. I once 
heard it said of him that he has the eyes of a snake- 
charmer, and I believe it more or less. But I assure 
you he is human — quite human. And — ’’ he spoke 
with unwonted emphasis^" he has no more power 
over you — not an inch — than you choose to give him. " 


A Harboxjr of Ref\:i^e 


i6i 


Muriel uttered a faint sigh. '‘I knew I should 
never make you understand. 

Grange was silent. He might have retorted thaf 
she had given him very little information to go upon, 
but he forebore. There was an almost colossal 
patience about this man. His silence had in it nothing 
of resentment. 

After a few seconds Muriel went on, her voice very 
low. would give anything — all I have — not to 
meet him when he comes back. But I don’t know how 
to get away from him. He is sure to seek me out. 
And I — I am only a girl. I can’t prevent it.” 

Again there sounded that piteous quiver in her 
words. It was like the cry of a lost child. Grange 
heard it, and clenched his hands, but he did not speak. 
He was gazing straight ahead, stem-eyed and still. 

Muriel scarcely noticed his attitude. Having at 
length broken through her barrier of reserve, she found 
a certain relief in speech. 

might go away, of course,” she said. , expect 
I shall do that, for I don’t think I could endure it here. 
But I have n’t many friends. My year in India 
seemed to cut me off from every one. It ’s a little 
difficult to know where to go. And then, too, there 
is Daisy.” 

She paused, and suddenly Grange spoke, with more 
abruptness than was his wont. 

”Why do you think he is sure to seek you out? 
Did he ever say so?” 

She shivered. ^^No, he never said so. But — but 
■ — ^in a way I feel it. He is so merciless. He always 
makes me think of an eagle swooping down on its 
prey. No doubt you think me very fanciful and ridicu- 
lous. Perhaps I am. But once — in the mountains— 


ij 


I62 


THe "Way of an Ea^Ie 


he told me that I belonged to him — that he wotild not 
let me go, and — and — I have never been able to forget 
it/* 

Her voice sank, and it seemed to Grange that she 
was crying in the darkness. Her utter forlornness 
pierced him to the heart. He leaned towards her, try- 
ing ineffectually to see her face. 

'*My dear little girl,’* he said gently, don’t be so 
distressed. He deserves to be kicked for frightening 
you like this. *’ 

‘Ht’s my own fault,” she whispered back. '^If I 
were stronger, or if Daddy were with me — it would be 
different. But I am all alone. There is no one to 
help me. I used to think it didn’t matter what 
happened to me, but I am beginning to feel it does.” 

^'Of course it does,” Grange said. His hand felt 
along the rail for hers, and, finding them, held them 
closely. Her weakness gave him confidence. ^‘Poor 
child!” he murmured softly. '*Poor little girl! 
You do want some one to take care of you.” 

Muriel mastered herself with an effort. It was not 
often now that she gave way so completely. 

‘Ht ’s only now and then,” she said. *‘It ’s better 
than it used to be. Only somehow I got frightened 
when I heard that Nick was coming. I daresay — 
when I begin to get used to the idea — I sha’n’t mind it 
quite so much. Never mind about my silly worries 
any more. No doubt I shall get wiser as I grow 
older.” 

She tried to laugh with the words, but somehow no 
laugh came. Grange’s great hand closed very tightly 
upon hers, and she looked up in surprise. 

Almost instantly he began to speak, very humbly, 
but also very resolutely. ''Muriel,” he said, " I ’m an 


A. Harbovir of Refvi^e 163 

unutterable fool at expressing things. I can only say 
them straight out and hope for the best. You want a 
protector, don’t you? And I — should like to be the 
one to protect you if — if it were ever possible for you 
to think of me in that light. ” 

He spoke with immense effort. He was afraid of 
scaring her, afraid of hurting her desolate young heart, 
afraid almost of the very impulse that moved him to 
speak . 

Absolute silence reigned when he ended. 

Muriel had become suddenly rigid, and so still that 
she did not seem to breathe. For several seconds he 
waited, but still she made no sign. He had not the 
remotest clue to guide him. He began to feel as if a 
door had unexpectedly closed against him, not vio- 
lently, but steadily, soundlessly, barring him out. 

It was but a fleeting impression. In a few moments 
more it was gone. She drew a long quivering breath, 
and turned slightly towards him. 

“I would rather trust myself to you,” she said, 
” than to any one else in the world. ” 

She spoke in her deep, sincere voice which gave him 
no doubt that she meant what she said, and at once 
his own trepidation departed. He put his arm around 
her, and pressed her close to him. 

”Come to me then,” he said very tenderly. ‘‘And 
I will take such care of you, Muriel, that no one shall 
ever frighten you again.” 

She yielded to his touch as simply as a child, leaning 
her head against him with a little, weary gesture of 
complete confidence. She was desperately tired of 
standing alone. 

“I know I shall be safe with you,” she whispered, 

‘‘Quite safe, dear,” he answered gravely. 


THe ^Way of an Ea^le 


164 

He paused a moment as though irresolute; then, 
still holding her closely, he bent and kissed her 
forehead. 

He did it very quietly and reverently, but at the 
action she started, almost shrank. One of those swift 
flashes of memory came suddenly upon her, and as in 
a vision she beheld another face bending over her — a 
yellow, wrinkled face of terrible emaciation, with eyes 
of flickering fire — eyes that never slept — and heard a 
voice, curiously broken and incoherent that seemed 
to pray. She could not catch the words it uttered. 

The old wild panic rushed over her, the old frenzied 
longing to escape. With a sobbing gasp she turned in 
Grange’s arms, and clung to him. 

'^Oh, Captain Grange,” she panted piteously, 
‘‘promise — promise you will never let me go!” 

Her agitation surprised him, but it awaked in him 
a responsive tenderness that compassed her with a 
strength bred rather of emergency than habit. 

“My little girl, I swear I will never let you go,” he 
said, with grave assurance. “You are quite safe now. 
No one shall ever take you from me.” 

And it was to Muriel as if, after long and futile 
battling in the open sea, she had drifted at last into the 
calm heaven which surely had always been the goal of 
her desires. 


CHAPTER XXII 


AN OLD STORY 

J IM RATCLIFFE was in the drawing-room with 
Daisy when they returned. He scrutinised them 
both somewhat sharply as they came in, but he made 
no comment upon their preference for the garden. 
Very soon he rose to take his leave. 

Grange accompanied him to the door, and Muriel, 
suddenly possessed by an overwhelming sense of shy- 
ness, bent over Daisy and murmured a hasty good- 
night. 

Daisy looked at her for a moment. Tired, dear? ” 
^'A little,’' Muriel admitted. 

hope you have n’t been catching cold — you and 
Blake,” Daisy said, as she kissed her. 

Muriel assured her to the contrary, and hastened to 
make her escape. In the hall she came face to face 
with Blake. He met her with a smile. 

' ^ What ! Going up already ? ’ ’ 

She nodded. Her face was burning. For an in- 
stant her hand lay in his. 

'Wou tell Daisy,” she whispered, and fled upstairs 
like a scared bird. 

Grange stood till she was out of sight; then turned 
aside to the drawing-room, the smile wholly gone from 
his face. 

Dais3^ from her seat before the fire, looked up with 
her gay laugh. ''I’m sure there is a secret brewing 

165 


I66 


THe "Way of an Ea^le 


between you two,” she declared. can feel it in 
my bones.” 

Grange closed the door carefully. There was a 
queer look on his face, almost an apprehensive look. 
He took up his stand on the hearthrug before he spoke. 

You are not far wrong, Daisy,” he said then. 

She answered him lightly as ever. never am, 
my dear Blake. Surely you must have noticed it. 
Well, am I to be let into the plot, or not?” 

He looked at her for a moment uneasily. “Of 
course we shall tell you,” he said. “It — ^it 's not a 
thing we could very well keep to ourselves for any 
length of time.” 

A sudden gleam of understanding flashed into , 
Daisy’s upturned face, and instantly her expression 
changed. With a swift, vehement movement she 
sprang up and stood before him. 

“Blake!” she exclaimed, and in her voice astonish- 
ment, dismay, and even reproach were mingled. 

He averted his eyes from hers. “Won’t you con- 
gratulate me, Daisy?” he said, speaking almost under 
his breath. 

Daisy had turned very white. She put out both 
hands, and leaned upon the mantelpiece. 

“But, my dear Blake,” she said, after a moment, 
“she is not for you.” 

“What do you mean?” Grange’s jaw suddenly 
set itself. He squared his great shoulders as if in- 
stinctively bracing himself to meet opposition. 

*^’*1 mean” — Daisy spoke very quietly and emphati- 
cally — “I mean, Blake, that she is Nick’s property. 
She belonged to Nick before ever you thought of want- 
ing her. I never dreamed that you would do anything 
so shabby as to step in at the last moment, just when 


All Old Story 


167 


Nick is coming home, and cut him out. How could 
you do such a thing, Blake? But surely it is n't ir- 
revocable? You can't have said anything definite?" 

Grange's face had become very stem. He no longer 
avoided her eyes. For once he was really angry, and 
showed it. 

''You make a mistake," he told her curtly. "I 
have done nothing whatever of which I am ashamed, 
or of which any man could be ashamed. Certainly I 
have taken a definite step. I have proposed to her, 
and she has accepted me. With regard to Nick Rat- 
cliffe, I believe myself that the fellow is something of 
a blackguard, but in any case she both fears and hates 
him. He can have no shadow of a right over her. " 

"You forget that he saved her life," said Daisy. 

"Is she to hold herself at his disposal on that ac- 
count? I must say I fail to see the obligation. " 

There was even a hint of scorn in Grange's tone. 
At sound of it, Daisy turned round, and laid her hand 
winningly upon his arm. 

"Dear old boy," she said gently, "don't be angry. 
I 'm not against you." 

He softened instantly. It was not in him to harbour 
resentment against a woman. He took her hand, and 
heaved a deep sigh. 

"No, Daisy," he said half sadly, "you must n't be 
against me. I always coimt on you." 

Daisy laughed a little wistfully. "Always did, 
dear, did n't you? Well, tell me some more. What 
made you propose all of a sudden like this? Are you 
— very much in love? " 

He looked at her. "Perhaps not quite as we used 
to understand the term," he said, seeming to speak 
half-reluctantly. 


l68 


The "Way of an Ea^le 


‘‘Oh, we were very extravagant and foolish,” re- 
joined Daisy lightly. “I didn't mean quite in that 
way, Blake. You at least are past the age for such 
feathery nonsense, or should be. I was — aeons and 
aeons ago.” 

“Were you?” he said, and still he looked at hef 
half in wonder, it seemed, and half in regret. 

Daisy nodded at him briskly. The colour had come 
back to her face. “Yes, I have arrived at years of 
discretion,” she assured him. “And I quite agree 
with Solomon that childhood and youth are vanity. 
But now let us talk about this. Is she in love with 
you, I wonder? I must be remarkably blind not to 
have seen it. How in the world I shall ever face Nick 
again, I can't imagine.” 

Grange frowned. “I'm getting a bit tired of Nick,” 
he said moodily. “He crops up ever3rwhere. ” 

Daisy's face flushed. “Don't you ever again say 
a word against him in my hearing,” she said. “For 
I won't bear it. He may not be handsome like you; 
but for all that, he 's about the finest man I know. ” 

“Good heavens!” said Blake. “As much as that!” 

She nodded vehemently. “Yes, quite as much. 
And he loves her, too, loves her with his whole soul. 
Perhaps you never knew that they would have been 
married long ago in Simla if Muriel had n't overheard 
some malicious gossip and thrown him over. How in 
the world she made him let her go I never knew, but 
she did it, though I believe it nearly broke his heart. 
He came to me afterwards and begged me to keep her 
with me as long as I could, and take care of her. ” 

“All this," broke in Grange, “is what you promised 
never to speak of ? ” 

“Yes,” she admitted recklessly. “But it is what 


An Old Story 169 

you ought to know — what you must know — before you 
go any further. '' 

*‘It will make no difference to me/' he observed. 
‘‘It is quite obvious that she never cared for him in 
the smallest degree. Why, my dear girl, she hates 
the man!” 

Daisy gave vent to a sigh of exasperation. “When 
you come to talk about women's feelings, Blake, you 
make me tired. You will never be anything but a 
great big booby in that respect as long as you live.” 

Grange became silent. He never argued with 
Daisy. She had always had the upper hand. He 
watched her as she sat down again, her pretty face in 
the glow of the fire ; but though fully aware of the 
fact, she would not look at him. 

“She is a dear girl, and you are not half good enough 
for her, ” she said, stooping a little to the blaze. 

“I know that,” he answered bluntly. “I wasn't 
good enough for you, either, but you would have had 
me — once. ” 

She made a dainty gesture with one shoulder. 
“That also was aeons ago. Why disturb that Door old 
skeleton?” 

He did not answer, but he continued to watch her 
steadily with eyes that held an expression of dumb 
faithfulness — like the eyes of a dog. 

Dais}^ was softly and meditatively poking the fire. 
“If you marry her, Blake,” she said, “you will have 
to be enormously good to her. She is n’t the sort of 
girl to be satisfied with anything but the best.” 

“I should do my utmost to make her happy,” he 
answered. 

She glanced up momentarily. “I wonder if you 
would succeed,” she murmured. 


170 


THe Way of an liable 


For a single instant their eyes met. Daisy’s fell 
away at once, and the firelight showed a swift deepen- 
ing of colour on her face. 

As for Blake, he stood quite stiff for a few seconds, 
then with an abruptness of movement imusual with 
him, he knelt suddenly down beside her. 

‘"Daisy,” he said, and his voice sounded strained, 
almost hoarse, “you’re not vexed about it? You 
don’t mind my marrying? It is n’t — you know — it 
is n’t — as if ” 

He broke off, for Daisy had jerked upright as if at 
the piercing of a nerve. She looked at him fully, with 
blazing eyes. “How can you be so ridiculous, Blake? ” 
she exclaimed, with sharp impatience. “That was all 
over and done with long, long ago, and you know it* 
Besides, even if it had n’t been, I ’m not a dog in the 
manger. Surely you know that too. Oh, go away, 
and don’t be absurd!” 

She put her hand against his shoulder, and gave 
him a small but vehement push. 

He stood up again immediately, but he did not look 
hurt, and the expression of loyalty in his eyes never 
wavered. 

There was a short pause before Daisy spoke again. 

“Well,” she said, with a brief sigh, “I suppose it ’s 
no good crying over spilt milk, but I wish you had 
chosen any girl in the world but Muriel, Blake; I do 
indeed. You will have to write to Sir Reginald Bassett. 
He is her guardian, subject to his wife’s management. 
Perhaps she will approve of you. She hated Nick for 
some reason. ” 

“I don’t see how they can object,” Grange said, in 
the moody tone he always used when perplexed. 

“No,” said Daisy. “Nor did Nick. But Lady 


An Old Story 


171 

Bassett managed to put a spoke in his wheel notwith- 
standing. Still, if Muriel wants to marry you — or 
thinks she does — she will probably take her own way. 
And possibly regret it afterwards.^’ 

'‘You think I shall not make her happy?” said 
Grange. 

Daisy hesitated a little. " I think, ” she said slowly, 
"that you are not the man for her. However,” — she 
rose with another shrug — "I may be wrong. In any 
case you have gone too far for me to meddle. I can’t 
help either of you now. You must just do what you 
think best. ” She held out her hand. "I must go up 
now. Baby is restless to-night, and may want me. 
Good-night. ” 

Blake stooped, and carried her hand softly and 
suddenly to his lips. He seemed for an instant on the 
verge of saying something, but no words came. There 
was a faint, half -mocking smile on Daisy’s face as she 
turned away. But she was silent also. It seemed 
that they understood each other. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE SLEEP CALLED DEATH 

I T was an unspeakable relief to Muriel that, in con- 
gratulating her upon her engagement, Daisy made 
no reference to Nick. She did not know that this 
forbearance had been dictated long before by Nick 
himself. 

The days that followed her engagement had in them 
a sort of rapture that she had never known before. 
She felt as a young wild creature suddenly escaped from 
the iron jaws of a trap in which it had long languished, 
and she rioted in the sense of liberty that was hers. 
Her youth was coming back to her in leaps and bounds 
with the advancing spring. 

She missed nothing in Blake’s courtship. His 
gentleness had always attracted her, and the intimacy 
that had been growing up between them made their 
intercourse always easy and pleasant. They never 
spoke of Nick. But ever in Muriel’s heart there 
lay the soothing knowledge that she had nothing more 
to fear. Her terrible, single-handed contests against 
overwhelming odds were over, and she was safe. She 
was convinced that, whatever happened, Blake would 
take care of her. Was he not the protector she would 
have chosen from the beginning, could she but have 
had her way? 

So, placidly and happily, the days drifted by, till 
172 


XKe Sleep Called DeatK 


173 


March was nearly gone; and then, sudden and stag- 
gering as a shell from a masked battery, there fell the 
blow that was destined to end that peaceful time. 

Very late one night there came a nervous knocking 
at Muriel’s door, and springing up from her bed she 
came face to face with Daisy’s ayah. The woman was 
grey with fright, and babbling incoherently. Some- 
thing about '‘baba” and the "mem-sahib” Muriel 
caught and instantly guessed that the baby had been 
taken ill. She flung a WTap round her, and hastened 
to the nursery. 

It was a small room opening out of Daisy’s bedroom. 
The light was turned on full, and here Daisy herself 
was walking up and down with the baby in her arms. 

Before Muriel was well in the room, she stopped and 
spoke. Her face was ghastly pale, and she could not 
raise her voice above a whisper, though she made re- 
peated efforts. "Go to Blake!” she panted. "Go 
quickly! Tell him to fetch Jim Ratcliffe. Quick! 
Quick!” 

Muriel flew to do her bidding. In her anxiety she 
scarcely waited to knock at Blake’s door, but burst in 
upon him headlong. The room was in total darkness, 
but he awoke instantly. 

"Hullo! What is it? That you, Muriel?” 

"Oh, Blake!” she gasped. "The child’s ill. We 
want the doctor.” 

He was up in a moment. She heard him groping 
for matches, but he only succeeded in knocking some- 
thing over. 

"Can’t you find them?” she asked. "Wait! I ’ll 
get you a light. ” 

She ran back to her own room and fetched a candle. 
Her hands were shaking so that she could scarcely 


174 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


light it. Returning, she found Grange putting on his 
clothes in the darkness. He was fully as flurried as 
she. 

As she set down the candle there arose a sudden 
awful sound in Daisy’s room. 

Muriel stood still. ' ‘ Oh, what is that ? ’ ’ 

Grange paused in the act of dragging on his coat. 
^‘It ’s that damned ayaZt,” he said savagely. 

And in a second Muriel understood. Daisy’s ayah 
was wailing for the dead. 

She put her hands over her ears. The dreadful 
cry seemed to pierce right through to her very soul. 
Then she remembered Daisy, and turned to go to 
her. 

Out in the passage she met the white-faced English 
servants huddling together and whispering. One of 
them was sobbing hysterically. She passed them 
swiftly by. 

Back in Daisy’s room she found the ayah crouched 
on the floor, and rocking herself to and fro while she 
beat her breast and wailed. The door that led into 
the nursery was closed. 

Muriel advanced fiercely upon the woman. She 
almost felt as if she could have choked her. She seized 
her by the shotdders without ceremony. The ayah 
ceased her wailing for a moment, then recommenced 
in a lower key. Muriel pulled her to her feet, half- 
dragged, half-led her to her own room, thrust her 
within, and locked the door upon her. Then she 
returned to Daisy. 

She found her sunk in a rocking-chair before the 
waning fire, softly swaying to and fro with the baby 
on her breast. She looked at Muriel entering, with a 
set, still face. 


TKe Sleep Called DeatK 175 

^‘Has Blake gone?” she asked, still in that dry, 
powerless whisper. 

Muriel moved to her side, and knelt down. ”He 
is just going,” she began to say, but the words froze 
on her lips. 

She remained motionless for a long second, gazing 
at the tiny, waxen face on Daisy’s breast. And for 
that second her heart stood still; for she knew that 
the baby was dead. 

From the closed room across the passage came the 
muffled sound of the ayah's wailing. Daisy made a 
slight impatient movement. 

‘‘Stir the fire, ” she whispered. “ He feels so cold. ” 

But Muriel did not move to obey. Instead she held 
out her arms. 

“Let me take him, dear,” she begged tremulously. 
Daisy shook her head with a jealous tightening of 
her clasp. “ He has been so ill, poor wee darling, ” she 
whispered. “ It came on so suddenly. There was no 
time to do anything. But he is easier now. I think 
he is asleep. We won’t disturb him.” 

Muriel said no more. She rose and blindly poked 
the fire. Then — for the sight of Daisy rocking her 
dead child with that set, ashen face was more than she 
could bear — she turned and stole away, softly closing 
the door behind her. 

Again meeting the English servants hovering out- 
side, she sent them downstairs to light the kitchen fire, 
going herself to the dining-room window to watch for 
the doctor. Her feet were bare and freezing, but she 
would not return to her room for slippers. She felt she 
could not endure that awful wailing at close quarters 
again. Even as it was, she heard it fitfully; but from 
the nursery there came no sound. 


176 


THe "Way of an Eagle 


She wondered if Blake had gone across the meadow 
to the doctor’s house — it was undoubtedly the shortest 
cut — and tried to calculate how long it would take him. 

The waiting was intolerable. She bore it with a 
desperate endurance. She could not rid herself of the 
feeling that somehow Nick was near her. She almost 
expected to see him come lightly in and stand beside 
her. Once or twice she turned shivering to assure her- 
self that she was really alone. 

There came at last the click of the garden-gate. 
They had come across the drenched meadows. In a 
transient gleam of moonlight she saw the two figures 
striding towards her. Grange stopped a moment to 
fasten the gate. The doctor came straight on. 

She ran to the front door and threw it open. The 
wind blew swirling all about her, but she never felt it, 
though her very lips were numb and cold. 

‘‘It ’s too late!” she gasped, as he entered. “It ’s 
too late!” 

Jim Ratcliffe took her by the shoulders and forced 
her away from the open door. 

‘ ‘ Go and put something on, ’ ’ he ordered, ‘ ‘ instantly ! ’ ’ 

There was no resisting the mastery of his tone. She 
responded to it instinctively, hardly knowing what she 
did. 

The ayah's paroxysm of grief had sunk to a low 
moaning when she re-entered her room. It sounded 
like a dumb creature in pain. Hastily she dressed, 
and twisted up her hair with fingers that she strove 
in vain to steady. 

Then noiselessly she crept back to the nursery. 

Daisy was still rocking softly to and fro before the 
ure, her piteous burden yet clasped against her heart. 
The doctor was stooping over her, and Muriel saw the 


THe Sleep Called DeatH 


177 


half-eager, half-suspicious look in Daisy’s eyes as she 
watched him. She was telling him in rapid whispers 
what had happened. 

He listened to her very quietly, his keen eyes fixed 
unblinking upon the baby’s face. When she ended, 
he stooped a little lower, his hand upon her arm. 

‘^Let me take him,” he said. 

Muriel trembled for the answer, remembering the 
instant refusal with which her own offer had been met. 
But Daisy made no sort of pretest. She seemed to 
yield mechanically. 

Only, as he lifted the tiny body from her breast, a 
startled, almost a bereft look crossed her face, and she 
whispered quickly, ” You won’t let him cry?” 

Jim Ratcliffe was silent a moment while he gazed 
intently at the little lifeless form he held. Then very 
gently, very pitifully, but withal very steadily, his 
verdict fell through the silent room. 

*^He will never cry any more.” 

Daisy was on her feet in a moment, the agony in her 
eyes terrible to see. '‘Jim! Jim!” she gasped, in a 
strangled voice. "He is n’t dead! My little darling, 
— my baby, — the light of my eyes ; tell me — he is n’t — 
dead!” 

She bent hungrily over the burden he held, and then 
gazed wildly into his face. She was shaking as one 
in an ague. 

Quietly he drew the head-covering over the baby’s 
face. "My dear,” he said, "there is no death.” 

The words were few, spoken almost in an undertone; 
but they sent a curious, tingling thrill through Muriel 
— a thrill that seemed to reach her heart. For the 
first time, unaccountably, wholly intangibly, she was 
aware of a strong resemblance between this man whom 


12 


178 


TKe Way of an H^a^le 


she honoured and the man she feared. She almost 
felt as if Nick himself had uttered the words. 

Standing dumbly by the door, she saw the doctor 
stoop to lay the poor little body down in the cot, saw 
Daisy’s face of anguish, and the sudden, wide-flung 
spread of her empty arms. 

The next moment, her woman’s instinct prompting 
her, she sprang forward; and it was she who caught 
the stricken mother as she fell. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE CREED OF A FIGHTER 

I T was growing very hot in the plains. A faint 
breeze born at sunset had died away long ago, 
leaving a wonderful, breathless stillness behind. The 
man who sat at work on his verandah with his shirt- 
sleeves turned up above his elbows sighed heavily 
from time to time as if he felt some oppression in the 
atmosphere. He was quite a young man, fair-skinned 
and clean-shaven, with an almost pathetically boyish 
look about him, a wistful expression as of one whose 
youth still endured though the zest thereof was de- 
nied to him. His eyes were weary and bloodshot, 
but he worked on steadily, indefatigably, never raising 
them from the paper imder his hand. 

Even when a step sounded in the room behind him, 
he scarcely looked up . ^ ' One moment , old chap ! * ’ He 
was still working rapidly as he spoke. ** I Ve a tough- 
ish bit to get through. I ’ll talk to you in a minute. ” 
There was no immediate reply. A man’s figure, 
dressed in white linen, with one arm quite invisible 
under the coat, stood halting for a moment in the door- 
way, then moved out and slowly approached the table 
at which the other sat. 

The lamplight, gleaming upwards, revealed a yellow 
face of many wrinkles, and curious, glancing eyes that 
shone like fireflies in the gloom. 

^79 


i8o XHe Way of an Eagle 

He stopped beside the man who worked. “Afl 
right,” he said. '‘Finish what you are doing.” 

In the silence that followed he seemed to watch the 
hand that moved over the paper with an absorbing in- 
terest. The instant it rested he spoke. 

"Done?” 

The man in the chair stretched out his arms with a 
long gesture of weariness; then abruptly leapt to his 
feet. 

"What am I thinking of, keeping you standing here? 
Sit down, Nick! Yes, I Ve done for the present. 
What a restless beggar you are 1 Why could n’t you 
lie still for a spell? ” 

Nick grimaced. "It ’s an accomplishment I have 
never been able to acquire. Besides, there ’s no occa- 
sion for it now. If I were going to die, it would be a 
different thing, and even then I think I ’d rather die 
standing. How are you getting on, my son? What 
mean these hieroglyphics?” 

He dropped into the empty chair and pored over 
the paper. 

"Oh, you would n’t understand if I told you,” the 
other answered. "You ’re not an engineer.” 

"Not even a greaser of wheels.” admitted Nick 
modestly. "But you need n’t throw it in my teeth. 
I suppose you are going to make your fortune soon and 
retire — you and Daisy and the imp — to a respectable 
suburb. You ’re a very lucky chap. Will.” 

"Think so?” said Will. 

He was bending a little over his work. His tone 
sounded either absent or dubious. 

Nick glanced at him, and suddenly swept his free 
right hand across the table. "Put it away!” he said. 
"You ’re overdoing it. Get the wretched stuff out of 


XHe Creed of a Fi^Kter i8i 

your head for a bit, and let 's have a smoke before 
dinner. I ’ll bring her out to you next winter. See 
if I don’t!” 

Will turned towards him impulsively. *^0h, man, 
if you only could!” 

'‘Only could!” echoed Nick. “I tell you I will. 
Ten quid on it if you like. Is it done?” 

But Will shook his head with a queer, unsteady 
smile. “No, it is n’t. But come along and smoke, or 
you will be having that infernal neuralgia again. It 
was confoundedly good of you to look me up like this 
when you were n’t fit for it. ” 

Nick laughed aloud. “Man alive! You don’t 
suppose I did it for your sake, do you? Don’t you 
know I wanted to break the journey to the coast?” 

“Odd place to choose!” commented Will. 

Nick arose in his own peculiarly abrupt fashion, and 
thrust his hand through his friend’s arm. 

“Perhaps I thought a couple of days of your society 
would cheer me up, ” he observed lightly. “ I daresay 
that seems odd too.” 

Will laughed in spite of himself. “Well, you Ve 
seen me with my nose to the grindstone anyhow. You 
can tell Daisy I ’m working like a troop-horse for her 
and the boy! Jove! What a knowing little beggar 
that youngster used to be! He is n’t very strong 
though, Daisy writes.” 

“How often do you hear?” asked Nick. 

“Oh, the last letter came three weeks ago. They 
were all well then, but she did n’t stop to say much 
because Grange was there. He is staying with them, 
you know. ” 

“You have n’t heard since then?” There was just 
a hint of indignation in Nick’s query. 


THe "Way of an Ha^le 


182 

W31 shook his head. ’*No. She’s a bad corre- 
spondent, always was. I write by every mail, and of 
course, if there were anything I ought to know, she 
would write too. But they are leading a fairly hum- 
dnim existence just now. She can’t have much to 
tell me.” 

Nick changed the subject. ‘‘How long has Grange 
been there?” 

“I don’t know. Some time, I think. But I really 
don’t know. They are very old pals, you know, he 
and Daisy. There was a bit of a romance between 
them, I believe, years ago, when she was in her teens. 
Their people would n’t hear of it because they were 
first cousins, so it fizzled out. But they are still great 
friends. A good sort of fellow, I always thought.” 

“Too soft for me,” said Nick. “He ’s like a well- 
built ship adrift without a rudder. He ’s all manners 
and no grit — the sort of chap who wants to be pushed 
before he can do anything. I often ached to kick 
him when we were boxed up at Wara. ” 

Will smiled. “The only drawback to indulging 
in that kind of game is that you may get kicked back, 
and a kick from a giant like Grange would be no joke.” 

Nick looked supremely contemptuous. “Fellows 
like Grange don’t kick. They don’t know how. 
That ’s why I had to leave him alone.” 

He turned into Will’s sitting-room and stretched 
himself out upon an ancient charpoy furnished with 
many ancient cushions that stood by the window. 

Will gave him a cigarette, and lighted it. “I 
wonder how many nights I have spent on that old 
shake-down,” he remarked, as he did it. 

Nick glanced upwards. “Last year?” 

Will nodded. “It was like hell,” he said, with 


THe Creed of a Fi^Hter 


183 


terrible simplicity. came straight back here, you 
know, after Daisy left Simla. I suppose the contrast 
made it worse. Then, too, the sub was ill, and it 
meant double work. Well,’' with another sigh, 
pulled through somehow, and I suppose we shall again. 
But, Nick, Daisy could n’t possibly stand this place 
more than four months out of the twelve. And as for 
the kiddie ” 

Nick removed his cigarette to yawn. 

‘‘You won’t be here all your life, my son,” he said. 
“You ’re a rising man, remember. There ’s no sense 
in grizzling, anyhow, and you ’re getting round- 
shouldered. Why don’t you do some gymnastics? 
You ’ve got a swimming bath. Go and do a quarter of 
a mile breast-stroke every day. Jupiter! What 
would n’t I give to — ” He broke off abruptly. “Well, 
I ’m not going to cry for the moon either. There ’s 
the khit on the verandah. What does he want?” 

Will went out to see. Nick, idly watching, saw the 
native hand him something on a salver which Will took 
to the lamp by which he had been working. Dead 
silence ensued. From far away there came the haunt- 
ing cry of a jackal, but near at hand there was no 
sound. A great stillness hung upon all things. 

To Nick, lying at full length upon the cushions, 
there presently came the faint sound of paper crack- 
ling, and a moment later his friend’s voice, pitched 
very low, spoke to the waiting servant. He heard 
the man softly retire, and again an intense stillness 
reigned. 

He could not see Will from where he lay, and he 
smoked on placidly for nearly five minutes in the belief 
that he was either answering some communication or 
looking over his work. Then at last, growing impa- 


TKe of an Ea^le 


484 

tient of the prolonged silence, he lifted his voice with* 
out moving. 

What in the world are you doing, you unsociable 
beggar? Can’t you tear yourself away from that 
beastly work for one night even? Come in here and en- 
tertain me. You won’t have the chance to-morrow.” 

There was no reply. Only from far away there 
came again the weird yell of a jackal. For a few 
seconds more Nick lay frowning. Then swiftly and 
quietly he arose, and stepped to the window. 

There he stopped dead as if in sudden irresolution ; 
for Will was sunk upon his knees by the table with his 
head upon his work and his arms flung out with 
clenched hands in an attitude of the most utter, the 
most anguished despair. He made no sound of any 
sort; only, as Nick watched, his bowed shoulders 
heaved once convulsively. 

It was only for a moment that Nick stood hesitating. 
The next, obeying an impulse that he never stopped to 
question, he moved straight forward to Will’s side; 
and then saw — what he had not at first seen — a piece 
of paper crumpled and gripped in one of his hands. 

He bent over him and spoke rapidly, but without 
agitation. ** Hullo, old boy ! What is it ! Bad news, 
eh?” 

Will started and groaned, then sharply turned hi-s 
face upwards. It was haggard and drawn and ghastly, 
but even then its boyishness remained. 

He spoke at once, replying to Nick in short, staccato 
tones. ’ve had a message — just come through. 
It ’s the kiddie — our little chap — he died — ^last night. ” 

Nick heard the news in silence. After a momient he 
stooped forward and took the paper out of Will’s hand, 
thrusting it away wi^xiout a glance into his own pocket. 


THe Creed of a Fi^Hter I85 

Then he took him by the arm and hoisted him up, 
^‘Come inside!’’ he said briefly. 

Will went with him blindly, too stricken to direct 
his own movements. 

And so he presently found himself crouching for- 
ward in a chair sta,ring at Nick’s steady hand mixing 
whiskey and water in a glass at his elbow. As Nick 
held it towards him he burst into sudden, wild speech. 

’ve lost her!” he exclaimed harshly. '^IVe 
lost her! It was only the kiddie that bound us to- 
gether. She never cared a half-penny about me. I 
always knew I should never hold her unless we had a 
child. And now — and now ” 

'‘Easy!” said Nick. ‘‘Easy! Just drink this like 
a good chap. There ’s no sense in letting yourself go. ” 

Will drank submissively, and covered his face. 
“Oh, man, ” he whispered brokenly, “you don’t know 
what it is to be despised by the one being in the world 
you worship. ” 

Nick said nothing. His lips twitched a little, that 
was all. 

But when several miserable seconds had dragged 
away and Will had not moved, he bent suddenly down 
and put his arm round the huddled shoulders. “ Keep 
a stiff upper lip, old chap, ” he urged gently. “ Don’t 
knock under. She ’ll be coming to you for comfort 
presently. ” 

“Not she!” groaned Will. “I shall never get near 
her again. She ’ll never come back to me. I know. 
I know.” 

“Don’t be a fool!” said Nick still gently. “You 
don’t know. Of course she will come back to you. li 
you stick to her, she ’ll stick to you.” 

Will made a choked sound of dissent. Nevertheless^ 


i86 


THe "Way of an £a^e 

after a moment he raised His quivering face, and 
gripped hard the hand that pressed his shoulder. 
‘'Thanks, dear fellow! You’re awfully good. For- 
give me for making an ass of myself. I — I was aw- 
fully fond of the little nipper too. Poor Daisy I She’ll 
be frightfully cut up.” He broke off, biting his lips. 

“Do you know,” he said presently in a strained 
whisper, “I ’ve wanted her sometimes — so horribly, 
that — that I ’ve even been fool enough to pray about 
it.” 

He glanced up as he made this confidence, half 
expecting to read ridicule on the alert face abov^ 
him, but the expression it wore surprised him. It 
was almost a fighting look, and wholly free from 
contempt. 

Nick seated himself on the edge of the table, and 
smote him on the shoulder. “My dear chap, ” he said, 
with a sudden burst of energy, “you ’re only at the 
beginning of things. It is n’t just praying now and 
then that does it. You ’ve got to keep up the steam, 
never slack for an instant, whatever happens. The 
harder going it is, the more likely you are to win 
through if you stick to it. But directly you slack, you 
lose ground. If you ’ve only got the grit to go on 
praying, praying hard, even against yoiu* own convic- 
tions, you ’ll get it sooner or later. You are bound to 
get it. They say God does n’t always grant prayer 
because the thing you want may not do you any good. 
That ’s gammon — futile gammon. If you want it 
hard enough, and keep on clamouring for it, it becomes 
the very thing of all others you need — the great essen- 
tial. And you ’ll get it for that very reason. It ’s 
sheer pluck that counts, nothing else — the pluck to go 
on fighting when you know perfectly well you 


Tine Creed of a FigKter 187 

beaten, the pluck to hang on and worry, worry, worry, 
till you get your heart's desire." 

He sprang up with a wide-flung gesture. “I’m 
doing it myself, " he said, and his voice rang with a 
certain grim elation. “I'm doing it myself. And 
God knows I sha’n't give Him any peace till I 'm sat- 
isfied. I may be small, but if I were no bigger than 
a mosquito, I 'd keep on buzzing." 

He walked to the end of the room, stood for a second, 
and came slowly back. 

Will was looking at him oddly, almost as if he had 
never seen him before. 

“Do you know," he said, smiling faintly, “I always 
thought you were a rotter. " 

“Most people do," said Nick. “I believe it 's my 
physiognomy that 's at fault. What can any one 
expect from a fellow with a face like an Egyptian 
mummy? Why, I 've been mistaken for the devil him- 
self before now." He spoke with a serni-whimsical 
ruefulness, and, having spoken, he went to the window 
and stood there with his face to the darkness. 

“Hear that jackal. Will?" he suddenly said. “The 
brute is hungry. You bet, he won't go empty away.” 

“Jackals never do," said Will, with his weary sigh. 

Nick turned round. “It shows what faithless fools 
we are," he said. 

In the silence that followed, there came again to 
them, clear through the stillness, and haunting in its 
persistence, the crying of the beast that sought its 
meat from God. 


CHAPTER XX\' 


A SCENTED LETTER 

T here is no exhaustion more complete or more 
compelling than the exhaustion of grief, and it 
is the most restless temperaments that usually suffer 
from it the most keenly. It is those who have watched 
constantly, tirelessly, selflessly, for weeks or even 
months, for whom the final breakdown is the most 
utter and the most heartrending. 

To Daisy, lying silent in her darkened room, the 
sudden ending cf the prolonged strain, the cessation 
of the anxiety that had become a part of her very being, 
was more intolerable than the sense of desolation itself. 
It lay upon her like a physical, crushing weight, this 
absence of care, numbing all her faculties. She felt 
that the worst had happened to her, the ultimate blow 
had fallen, and she cared for nought besides. 

In those first days of her grief she saw none but 
Muriel and the doctor. Jim Ratcliffe was more un- 
easy about her than he would admit. He knew as 
no one else knew what the strain had been upon the 
over-sensitive nerves, and how terribly the shock had 
wrenched them. He also knew that her heart was 
still in a very imsatisfactory state, and for many 
hours he dreaded collapse. 

He was inclined to be uneasy upon Muriel’s account 
as well, at first, but she took him completely by sur- 
m 


A Scented Letter 


189 


prise. Without a question, without a word, simply as a 
matter of course, she assumed the position of nurse and 
constant companion to her friend. Her resolution and 
steady self-control astonished him, but he soon saw 
that these were qualities upon which he could firmly 
rely. She had put her own weakness behind her, and 
in face of Daisy’s utter need she had found strength. 

He suffered her to have her way, seeing how close 
was the bond of sympathy between them, and realising 
that the very fact of supporting Daisy would be her 
own support. 

‘’You are as steady-going as a professional,” he 
told her once. 

To which she answered with her sad smile, '' I served 
mv probation in the school of sorrow last year. I am 
onlv able to help her because I know what it is to sit 
in ashes.” 

He patted her shoulder and called her a good girl. 
He was growing ven^ fond of her, and in his blunt, un- 
flattering wav he let her know it. 

Certain it was that in those terrible days following 
her bereaveTnent, Daisy clung to her as she had never 
before clung to any one, scarcely speaking to her, but 
mutely leaning upon her steadfast strength. 

Muriel saw but little of Blake though he was never 
£ar away. He wandered miserably about the house 
and garden, smoking endless cigarettes, and in ariably 
asking her with a piteous, dog-like wistfulness when- 
ever they met if there were nothing that he could do. 
There never was anything, but she had not the heart to 
tell him so, and she used to invent errands for him to 
make him happier. She herself did not go beyond the 
garden for many days. 

One evening, about three weeks after her baby’s 


190 


The "Way of an Ea^Ie 


death, Daisy heard his step on the gravel below her 
window and roused herself a little,. 

‘'Who is taking care of Blake?’' she asked. 

Muriel glanced down from where she sat at the great 
listless figure nearing the house. “ I think he is taking 
care of himself,” she said. 

“All alone?” said Daisy, 

“Yes, dear.” 

Daisy uttered a sudden hard sigh. “You must n’t 
spend all your time with me any longer,” she said. 
‘ ' I have been very selfish. I forgot. Go down to him, 
Muriel.” 

Muriel looked up, struck by something incompre- 
hensible in her tone. “You know I like to be with 
you,” she said. “And of course he understands.” 

But Daisy would not be satisfied. “That may 
be. But — ^but — I want you to go to him. He is 
lonely, poor boy. I can hear it in his step. I always 
know.” 

Wondering at her persistence, and somewhat re- 
luctant, Muriel rose to comply. As she was about to 
pass her, with a swift movement Daisy caught her 
hand and drew her down. 

“I want you — so — to be happy, dearest,” she 
whispered, a quick note of passion in her voice. “ It ’s 
better for you — it ’s better for you — to be together 
I ’m not going to monopolise you any longer. I will 
try to come down to-morrow, if Jim will let me. It ’s 
hockey day, is n’t it? You must go and play as usual, 
you and he. ” 

She was quivering with agitation as she pressed her 
lips to the girl’s cheek. Muriel would have embraced 
her, but she pushed her softly away. “ Go — go, dear, ” 
she insisted. “I wish it. ” 


A. Scented Letter 


19I 

And Muriel went, seeing that she would not other- 
wise be pacified. 

She found Blake depressed indeed, but genuinely 
pleased to see her, and she walked in the garden with 
him in the soft spring twilight till the dinner hour. 

Just as they were about to go in, the postman ap- 
peared with foreign letters for them both, which proved 
to be from Sir Reginald and Lady Bassett.. 

The former had written briefly but very kindly to 
Grange, signifying his consent to his engagement to 
his ward, and congratulating him upon having won 
her. To Muriel he sent a fatherly message, telling her 
of his pleasure at hearing of her happiness, and adding 
that he hoped she would return to them in the follow- 
ing autumn to enable him to give her away. 

Grange put his arm round his young fiancee as he 
read this passage aloud, but she only stood motionless 
within it, not yielding to his touch. It even seemed 
to him that she stiffened slightly. He looked at her 
questioningly and saw that she was very pale. 

^^What is it?’' he asked gently. '‘Will that be 
too soon for you?” 

She met his eyes frankly, but with unmistakable 
distress. “ I — I did n’t think it would be quite so soon, 
Blake,” she faltered. “I don’t want to be married 
at present. Can’t we go on as we are for a little? 
Shall you mind?” 

Blake’s face wore a puzzled look, but it was wholly 
free from resentment. He answered her immediately 
and reassuringly. 

‘ ‘ Of course not, dear. It shall be just when you like. 
Why should you be hurried?” 

She gave him a smile of relief and gratitude, and 
he stooped and kissed her forehead with a soothing 


192 XHe Way of an Ea^le 

tenderness that he might have bestowed upon a 
child. 

It was with some reluctance that she opened Lady 
Bassett’s letter in his presence, but she felt that she 
owed him this small mark of confidence. 

There was a strong aroma of attar of roses as she 
drew it from the envelope, and she glanced at Grange 
with an expression of disgust. 

What is the matter? ” he asked. Nothing wrong, 
I hope?” 

^‘It’s only the scent,” she explained, concealing 
a faint sense of irritation. 

He smiled. Don’t you like it? I thought all 
women did.” 

'‘My dear Blake!” she said, and shuddered. 

The next minute she threw a sharp look over her 
shoulder, suddenly assailed by an uncanny feeling that 
Nick was standing grimacing at her elbow. She saw 
his features so clearly for the moment with his own 
peculiarly hideous grimace upon them that she scarcely 
persuaded herself that her fancy had tricked her. But 
there was nothing but the twilight of the garden all 
around her, and Blake’s huge bulk by her side, and she 
promptly dismissed the illusion, not without a sense 
of shame. 

With a gesture of impatience she unfolded Lady 
Bassett’s letter. It commenced “Dearest Muriel,” 
and proceeded at once in terms of flowing elegance to 
felicitate her upon her engagement to Blake Grange. 

“In according our consent,” wrote Lady Bassett, 
“Sir Reginald and I have not the smallest scruple or 
hesitation. Only, dearest, for Blake Grange’s sake 
as well as for your own, make quite sure this time that 
your mind is fully made up, and your choice final. 


J\ Scented Letter 


m 


When Mnriel read this passage a deep note of re- 
sentment crept into her voice, and she lifted a flushed 
face. 

‘‘It may be very wicked,*' she said deliberately 
^‘but I hate Lady Bassett.” 

Grange looked astonished, even mildly shockedo 
But Muriel returned to the letter before he could reply^ 

It went on to express regret that the writer could 
not herself return to England for the summer to assist 
her in the purchase of her trousseau and to chaperon 
her back to India in the auttunn; but her sister, Mrs, 
Langdale, who lived in London, would she was sure, 
be delighted to undertake the part of adviser in the 
first case, and in the second she would doubtless be 
able to find among her many friends who would be 
travelling East for the winter, one who would take 
charge of her. No reference was made to Daisy till 
the end of the letter, when the formal hope was ex- 
pressed that Mrs. Musgrave’s health had benefited 
by the change. 

“She dares to disapprove of Daisy for some reason, ” 
Muriel said, closing the letter with the rapidity of 
exasperation. 

Grange did not ask why. He was engrossed in 
brushing a speck of mud from his sleeve, and she was 
not sure that he even heard her remark. 

“You — I suppose you are not going to bother 
about a trousseau yet then?” he asked rather awk- 
wardly. 

She shook her head with ^ vehemence. “No, no^ 
of course not. Why should I hurry? Besides, I am 
in mourning.” 

“Exactly as you like,” said Grange gently. “My 
leave will be up in September, as you know, but I am 


194 


TKe "Way of an E^^le 


not bound to stay in the Army. I will send in my 
papers if you wish it. 

Muriel looked at him in amazement. “Send in 
your papers! Why no, Blake! I would n’t have you 
do it for the world. I never dreamed of such a thing. ” 

He smiled good-humouredly. “Well, of course, I 
should be sorry to give up polo, but there are plenty 
of other things I could take to. Personally, I like a 
quiet existence.” 

Was there just a shade of scorn in Muriel’s glance 
as it fell away from him? It would have been impos- 
sible for any bystander to say with certainty, but 
there was without doubt a touch of constraint in her 
voice as she made reply. 

“Yes. You are quite the most placid person I 
know. But please don’t think of leaving the Army 
for my sake. I am a soldier’s daughter remember. 
And — I like soldiers.” 

^ Her lip quivered as she turned to enter the house. 
Her heart at that moment was mourning over a 
soldier’s unknown grave. But Grange did not know 
it, did not even see that she was moved. 

His eyes were raised to an upper window at which 
a dim figure stood looking out into the shadows. And 
he was thinking of other things. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE ETERNAL FLAME 

D aisy maintained her resolution on the following 
day, and though she did not speak again of going 
downstairs, she insisted that Muriel should return to 
the hockey-field and resume her place in Olga’s team. 
It was the last match of the season, and she would not 
hear of her missing it. 

^^You and Blake are both to go,” she said. ''I 
won’t have either of you staying at home for me.” 

But Blake, when Muriel conveyed this message to 
him, moodily shook his head. ’m not going. I 
don’t want to. You must, of course. It will do you 
good. But I could n’t play if I went. I ’ve strained 
my wrist.” 

'^Oh, have you?” Muriel said, with concern. 
‘‘What a nuisance! How did you manage it?” 

He reddened, and looked slightly ashamed. “I 
vaulted the gate into the meadow this morning. 
Idiotic thing to do. But f'sjball be all right. Never 
mind about me. I shall smoke in the garden. I may 
go for a walk. ” 

Thus pressed on all sides, though decidedly against 
her own inclination, Muriel went. The day was 
showery with brilliant intervals. Grange saw her ofiE 
at the field-gate. 

“Plenty of mud,” he remarked. 

195 


196 


THe *Way of an Ea^le 


^‘Yes, I shall be a spectacle when I come back. 
Good-bye! Take care of yourself/' Muriel’s hand 
rested for an instant on his arm, and then she was gone 
— a slim, short-skirted figure walking swiftly over the 
grass. 

He stood leaning on the gate watching her till a 
clump of trees intervened between them, then lazily 
he straightened himself and began to stroll back up 
the garden. He was not smoking. His face wore a 
heavy, almost a sullen, look. He scarcely raised his 
eyes from the ground as he walked. 

Nearing the house the sudden sound of a window 
being raised made him look up, and in an instant, swift 
as a passing cloud-shadow, his moodiness was gone. 
Daisy was leaning on her window-sill, looking down 
upon him. 

Though she had not spoken to him for weeks, she 
gave him no greeting. Her voice even sounded a trifle 
sharp. 

‘‘What are you loafing there for?” she demanded. 
'‘Why did n’t you go with Muriel to the hockey?” 

He hesitated for a single instant. Then — for he 
never lied to Daisy — quite honestly he made reply. 
“I did n’t want to.” 

Her pale face frowned down at him, though the eyes 
had a soft light that was like a mother’s indulgence for 
her wa3rward child. ^ 

“How absurd you are! How can you be so lazy? 
I won’t have it, Blake. Do you hear? ” 

He moved forward a few steps till he was immedi- 
ately below her, and there stood with uplifted face. 
“What do you want me to do?” 

“Do!” echoed Daisy. “Why, anything — any- 
thing rather than nothing. There ’s the garden-roller 


XKe Eternal Flame 


197 

over there by the tool-shed. Go and get it, and roll 
the lawn. ” 

He went off obediently without another word, and 
presently the clatter of the roller testified to his sub- 
missive fulfilment of her command. He did not look 
up again. Simply, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves 
turned above his elbows, he tackled his arduous task, 
labouring up and down in the soft spring rain, patient 
and tireless as an ox. 

He had accomplished about half his job when again 
Daisy’s voice broke imperiously in upon him. 

' ‘ Blake ! Blake ! Come in ! You ’ll get wet to the 
skin.” 

He stopped at once, straightening his great frame 
with a sigh of relief. Daisy was standing at the draw- 
ing-room window. 

He pulled on his coat and went to join her. 

She came to meet him with sharp reproach. Why 
are you so foolish? I believe you would have gone on 
rolling if there had been an earthquake. You must 
be wet through and through. ” She ran her little thin 
hand over him. Yes, I knew you were. You must 
go and change. ” 

But Grange’s fingers closed with quiet intention 
upon her wrist. He waf looking down at her with 
the faithful adoration or. a dumb animal. 

'‘Not yet, ” he said gently. " Let me see you while 
I can.” 

She made a quick movement as if his grasp hurt her, 
and in an instant she was free. 

"Yes, but let us be sensible,” she said. "Don’t 
let us talk about hard things. I ’m very tired, you 
know, Blake. You must make it easy for me.” 

There was a piteous note of appeal in her voicCo 


XHe Way of an £a^le 


198 

She sat down with her back to the light. He cotild see 
that her hands were trembling, but because of her 
appeal he would not seem to see it. 

Don’t you think a change would be good for you?’’ 
he suggested. 

don’t know,” she answered. ^*Jim says so. 
He wants me to go to Brethaven. It ’s only ten miles 
away, and he would motor over and look after me. 
But I don’t think it much matters. I ’m not particu- 
larly fond of the sea. And Muriel assures me she 
does n’t mind. ” 

*'Is n’t it at Brethaven that Nick Ratcliffe owns a 
place?” asked Grange. 

'‘Yes. Redlands is the name. I went there once 
with Will. It ’s a beautiful place on the cliff — quite 
thrown away on Nick, though, unless he marries, which 
he never will now.” 

Grange looked uncomfortable. ‘‘It’s not my 
fault,” he remarked blimtly. 

"No, I know,” said Daisy, with a faint echo of her 
old light laugh. "Nothing ever was, or could be, your 
fault, dear old Blake. You ’re just unlucky sometimes, 
are n’t you? That ’s all. ” 

j Blake frowned a little. "I play a straight game — 
generally,” he said. 

"Yes, dear, but you almost always drive into a 
bunker, ” Daisy insisted. " It ’s not your fault, as we 
said before. It ’s just your misfortune.” 

She never flattered Blake. It was perhaps the 
secret of her charm for him. To other women he was 
something of a paladin; to Daisy he was no more than 
a man — a man moreover of many weaknesses, each 
one of which she knew, each one of which was in a 
fashion dear to her. 


THe Eternal Flame 


199 


‘'We will have some tea, shall we?” she said, as he 
sat silently digesting her criticism. ‘‘I must try and 
write to Will presently. I have n’t written to him 
since — since — ” She broke off short and began again, 
“I got Muriel to write for me once. But he keeps 
writing by every mail. I wish he would n’t.” 

Grange got up and walked softly to the window. 
“When do you think of going back?” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” There was a keen note of irrita- 
tion in the reply. Daisy leaned suddenly forward, her 
fingers locked together. “You might as well ask me 
when I think of dying,” she said, with abrupt and 
startling bitterness. 

Grange remained stationary, not looking at her. 
“Is it as indefinite as that?” he asked presently. 

“Yes, quite. ’ ’ She spoke recklessly, even defiantly. 
“Where would be the use of my going to a place I 
could n’t possibly live in for more than four months in 
the year? Besides — besides — ” But again, as if 
checked by some potent inner influence, she broke off 
short. Her white face quivered suddenly, and she 
turned it aside. Her hands were convulsively clenched 
upon each other. 

Her cousin did not move. He seemed to be unaware 
of her agitation. Simply with much patience he waited 
for her end of the sentence. 

It came at last in a voice half-strangled. She was 
making almost frantic efforts to control herself. “Be- 
sides, I could n’t stand it — yet. I am not strong 
enough. And he — he would n’t understand, poor boy. 
I think — I honestly think — I am better away from 
him for the present” 

Blake made no further inquiries. From Daisy’s 
point of view, he seemed to be standing motionless, but 


200 


TKe Way of an E^a^le 


in reality he was quite unconsciously, though very 
deliberately, pulling the tassel of the blind-cord to 
shreds. 

The clouds had passed, and the sun blazed down 
full upon him, throwing his splendid outline into high 
relief. Every detail of his massive frame was strongly 
revealed. There was about him a species of careless 
magnificence, wholly apart from arrogance, unfettered, 
superb. 

To Daisy, familiar as she was with every line of him, 
the sudden revelation of the sunlight acted like a 
charm. She had been hiding her eyes for many days 
from all light, veiling them in the darkness of her grief, 
and the splendour of the man fairly dazzled her. It 
rushed upon her, swift, overmastering as a tidal wave, 
and before it even the memory of her sorrow grew dim. 

Blake, turning at last, met her eyes fixed full upon 
him with that in their expression which no man could 
ignore. She had not expected him to turn. The 
movement disconcerted her. With a sharp jerk She 
averted her face, seeking to cover that momentary slip, 
to persuade him even then, if it were possible, into 
the belief that he had not seen aright. 

But it was too late. That unguarded look of hers 
had betrayed her, rending asimder in an instant the 
veil with which for years she had successfully baiHed 
him. 

In a second he was on his knees beside her, his arms 
about her, holding her with a close and passionate 
insistence. 

''Daisy!’' he whispered huskily. And again, 

Daisy!” 

And Daisy turned with a sudden deep sob and hid 
her face upon his breast. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE EAGLE CAGED 

J N Spite of Olga’s ecstatic welcome, Muriel took her 
place on the hockey-field that afternoon with a 
heavy heart. Her long attendance upon Daisy had 
depressed her. But gradually, as the play proceeded, 
she began to forget herself and her troubles. The 
spring air exhilarated her, and when they returned to 
the field after a sharp shower her spirits had risen. She 
became even childishly gay in the course of a hotly- 
contested battle, and the sadness gradually died out of 
her eyes. She had grown less shy, less restrained, than 
of old. Youth and health, and a dawning, uncon- 
scious beauty had sprung to life upon her face. She was 
no longer the frightened, bereft child of Simla days. 
She no longer hid a monstrous fear in her heart. She 
had put it all away from her wisely, resolutely, as a 
tale that is told. 

The wild wind had blown the hair all loose about 
her face by the time the last goal was won. Hatless, 
flushed, and laughing, she drew back from the fray, 
Olga, elated by victory, clinging to her arm. It was 
a moment of keen triumph, for the fight had been hard, 
and she enjoyed it to the full as she stood there with 
her face to the sudden, scudding rain. The glow of 
exercise had braced every muscle. Every pulse was 
beating with warm, vigorous life. 

20 ? 


The Way of an Ea^le 


sog 

She laughed aloud in sheer exultation, a low, merry 
laugh, and turned with Olga to march in triumphant 
procession from the field. 

In that instant from a gate a few yards away that 
led into the road there sounded the short, imperious 
note of a motor-horn, repeated many times in a suc- 
cession of sharp blasts. Every one stood to view the 
intruder with startled curiosity for perhaps five sec- 
onds. Then there came a sudden squeal of rapture 
from Olga, and in a moment she had torn her arm free 
and was gone, darting like a swallow over the turf. 

Muriel stood looking after her, but she was as one 
turned to stone. She was no longer aware of the 
children grouped around her. She no longer saw the 
fleeting sunshine, or felt the drift of rain in her face. 
Something immense and suffocating had closed about 
her heart. Her racing pulses had ceased to beat. 

A figure familiar to her — a man’s figure, unimposing 
in height, unremarkable in build, but straight, straight 
as his own sword-blade — had bounded from the car 
and scaled the intervening gate with monkey-like 
agility. 

He met the child’s wild rush with one arm extended; 
the other — Muriel frowned sharply, peering with eyes 
half closed, then uttered a queer choked sound that 
had the semblance of a laugh — ^in place of the other arm 
there was an empty sleeve. 

Through the rush of the wind she beard his voice. 

Hullo, kiddie, hullo! Hope I don’t intrude. 
I ’ve come over on purpose to pay my respects. ” 

Olga’s answer did not reach her. She was hanging 
round her hero’s neck, and her head was down upon 
Nick’s shoulder. It seemed to Muriel that she was 
crying, but if so, she received scant sympathy from the 


THe £a^le Ca^ed 


203 


object of her solicitude. His cracked, gay laugh rang 
out across the field. 

''What? Why, yesterday, to be sure. Spent the 
night in town. No, I know I did n't. Never meant to. 
Wanted to steal a march on you all. Why not? I 
say, is that — Muriel? " 

For the first time he seemed to perceive her, and 
instantly with a dexterous movement he had disen- 
gaged himself from Olga's clinging arms and was 
briskly approaching her. Two of the doctor's boys 
sprang to greet him, but he waved them airily aside. 

"All right, you chaps, in a minute! Where 's Dr. 
Jim? Go and tell him I 'm here. " 

And then in a couple of seconds more they were 
face to face. 

MurieJ stared at him speechlessly. She felt cold 
from head to foot. She had known that he was com- 
ing. She had been steeling herself for weeks to meet 
him in an armour of conventional reserve. But all 
her efforts had come to this. Swift, swift as the wind 
over wheat, his coming swept across her new-born 
confidence. It wavered and bent its head. 

"Does your Excellency deign to remember the 
least and humblest of her servants?" queried Nick, 
with a deep salaam. 

The laugh in his tone brought her sharply back to 
the demand of circumstance. Before the watching 
crowd of children, she forced her white lips to smile in 
answer, and in a moment she had recovered her self- 
possession. She remembered with a quick sense of 
relief that this man's power over her belonged to the 
past alone — to the tale that was told. 

The hand she held out to him was almost steady. 
"Yes, I remember you, Nick," she said, with chilly 


204 THe Way of an Ea^e 

courtesy. am sorry you have been ill. Are you 
better?'* 

He made a queer grimace at her words, and for the 
second that her hand lay in his, she knew that he 
looked at her closely, piercingly. 

^‘Thanks — awfully,** he said. ‘*As you may have 
noticed, there is a little less of me than there used to be. 
I hope you think it *s an improvement. *’ 

She felt as if he had flung back her conventional 
sympathy in her face, and she stiffened instinctively. 

I am sorrry to see it, ** she returned icily. 

Nick laughed enigmatically. thought you 

would be. Well, Olga, my child, what do you mean by 
growing up like this in my absence? You used to be 
just the right size for a kid, and now you are taller 
than I am.** 

''I *m not, Nick,** the child declared with warmth. 
*^And I never will be, there!** 

She slid her arm again round his neck. Her eyes 
were full of tears. 

Nick turned swiftly and bestowed a kiss upon the 
face which, though the face of a child, was so remark- 
ably like his own. 

‘‘Are n’t you going to introduce me to your trends? 
he said. 

“There ’s no need,” said Olga, hugging him closer. 
“They all know Captain Ratcliffe of Wara. Why 
have n*t you got theV.C., Nick, like Captain Grange?” 

“ Did n*t qualify for it, ** returned Nick. “You see, 
I only distinguished myself by running away. Hullo! 
It *s raining. Just run and tell the chauffeur to drive 
round to the house. You can go with him. And take 
your friends too. It *11 carry you all. I ’m going the 
garden way with Muriel.** 


THe Ea^le Ca^edl 


^05 

Muriel realised the impossibility of frustrating this 
plan, though the last thing in the world that she de- 
sired was to be alone with him. But the distance to 
the house was not great. As the children scampered 
away to the waiting motor-car she moved briskly to 
leave the field. 

Nick walked beside her with his free, elastic swagger. 
In a few moments he reached out and took her hockey- 
stick from her. 

'‘Jove!” he said. “It did me good to see you shoot 
that goal. ” 

“I had no idea you were watching,” she returned 
stiffly. 

He grinned. “No, I saw that. Fun, wasn’t it? 
Like to know what I said to myself?” 

She made no answer, and his grin became a laugh. 
“ I ’m sure you would, so I *11 tell you. I said, ‘ Prayer 
Number One is granted, * and I ticked it off the list, and 
duly acknowledged the same.” 

Muriel was plainly mystified. He was in the mood 
that most baffled her. “ I don’t know what you mean,” 
she said at last. 

Nick swung the hockey-stick idly. His yellow face, 
for all its wrinkles, looked peculiarly complacent. 

“Let me explain,” he said coolly; “I wanted to see 
you young again, and — my want has been satisfied, 
that ’s all. ” 

Muriel looked sharply away from him, the vivid 
colour rushing all over her face. She remembered — 
and the memory seemed to stab her — a day long, long 
ago when she had lain in this man’s arms in the ex- 
tremity of helpless suffering, and had heard him pray- 
ing above her head, brokenly, passionately, for 
something far different — something from which she 


2o6 TKe ^Wety of an Ca^le 

had come to shrink with a nameless, overmastering 
dread. 

She quickened her pace in the silence that followed. 
The rain was coming down sharply. Reaching the 
door that led into the doctor’s walled garden, she 
stretched out her hand with impetuous haste to push 
it open. 

Instantly, with disconcerting suddenness, Nick 
dropped the hockey-stick and swooped upon it like a 
bird of prey. 

''Who gave you that?” he demanded. 

He had spied a hoop of diamonds upon her third 
finger. She could not see his eyes under the 
flickering lids, but he held her wrist forcibly, and it 
seemed to her that there was a note of savagery in 
his voice. 

Her heart beat fast for a few seconds, so fast that 
she could not find her voice. Then, almost under her 
breath, "Blake gave it to me,” she said. "Blake 
Grange. ” 

"Yes?” said Nick. "Yes?” 

Suddenly he looked straight at her, and his eyes 
were alight, fierce, glowing. But she felt a curious 
sense of scared relief, as if he were behind bars, — an 
eagle caged, of which she need have no fear. 

"We are engaged to be married,” she said quietly. 

There fell a momentary silence, and a voice cried 
out in her soul that she had stabbed him through the 
bars. 

Then in a second Nick dropped her hands and 
stooped to pick up the hockey-stick. His face as he 
stood up again flashed back to its old, baffling 
gaiety. 

"What ho!” he said lightly. "Then I ’m in time 


The Ea^le Ca^ed 207 

to dance at the wedding. Pray accept my heartiest 
congratulations ! ’’ 

Muriel murmured her thanks with her face averted. 
She was no longer afraid merely, but strangely, inex- 
plicably ashamed. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE lion’s skin 

T he news of Nick’s return spread like wildfire 
through the doctor’s house, and the whole 
establishment assembled to greet him. Jim himself 
came striding out into the rain to shake his hand and 
escort him in. 

His '‘Hullo, you scapegrace!” had in it little of 
sentiment, but there was nothing wanting in his wel- 
come in the opinion of the recipient thereof. 

Nick’s rejoinder of “Hullo, you old buffer!” was 
equally free from any gloss of eloquence, but he 
hooked his hand in the doctor’s arm as he made it, 
and kept it there. 

Jim gave him one straight, keen look that took in 
every detail, but he made no verbal comment of any 
sort. His heavy brows drew together for an instant, 
that was all. 

It was an exceedingly clamorous home-coming. 
The children, having arrived in the motor, swarmed 
all about the returned hero, who was more than equal 
to the occasion, and obviously enjoyed his boisterous 
reception to the uttermost. There never had been 
any shyness about Nick. 

Muriel, standing watching in the background with 
a queer, unaccountable pain at her heart, assured her- 
self that the news of her engagement had meant 
20S 


The Lion^s Shin 


209 


nothing to him whatever. He had managed to de- 
ceive her as usual. She realised it with burning 
cheeks, and ardently wished that she had borne her- 
self more proudly. Well, she was not wanted here. 
Even Olga, her faithful and loving admirer, had eyes 
only for Nick just then. As for Dr. Jim, he had not 
even noticed her. 

Quietly she stole away from the merry, chattering 
group. The hall-door stood open, and she saw that 
it was raining heavily; but she did not hesitate. 
With a haste that was urged from within by some- 
thing that was passionate, she ran out hatless into 
the storm. 

The cracked, careless laugh she knew so well 
pursued her as she went, and once she fancied that 
some one called her by name. But she did not slacken 
speed to listen. She only dashed on a little faster 
than before. 

Drenched and breathless, she reached home at 
length, to be met upon the threshold by Blake. In 
her exhaustion she almost fell into his arms. 

‘"Hullo!” he said, steadying her. “You should n’t 
run like that. I never dreamed you would come back 
in this, or I would have come across with an umbrella 
to fetch you.” 

She sank into a chair in the hall, speechless and 
gasping, her hair hanging about her neck in wildest 
disorder. 

Blake stood beside her. He was wearing his 
worried, moody look. 

“You shouldn’t,” he said again. “It’s horribly 
bad for you.” 

“Ah, I ’m better,” she gasped back. “I had to run 
—all the way — because of the rain.” 


210 


TKe W’ay of an Ea^le 


''But why did n’t you wait?” said Blake. "What 
were they thinking of to let you come in this down- 
pour?” 

"They couldn’t help it.” Muriel raised herself 
with a great sobbing sigh. '^^It was nobody’s fault 
but my own. I wanted to get away. Oh, Blake, do 
you know — Nick is here?” 

Blake started. "What? Already? Do you mean 
he is actually in the place?” 

She nodded. "He came up in a motor while we 
were playing. I suppose he is staying at Redlands, 
but I don’t know. And — and — Blake, he has lost 
his left arm. It makes him look so queer.” She 
gave a sudden, uncontrollable shudder. The old 
dumb horror looked out of her eyes. "I thought I 
should n’t mind,” she said, under her breath, "Per- 
haps — if you had been there — it would have been 
different. As it was — as it was — ” She broke off, 
rising impetuously to her feet, and laying trembling 
hands upon his arms. "Oh, Blake,” she whispered, 
like a scared child. "I feel so helpless. But you 
promised — you promised — you would never let me 
go-” 

Yes, he had promised her that. He had sworn it, 
and, sick at heart, he remembered that in her eyes 
at least he was a man of honour. It had been in his 
mind to tell her the simple truth, just so far as he 
himself was concerned, and thereafter to place him- 
self at her disposal to act exactly as she should desire. 
But suddenly this was an impossibility to him. He 
realised it with desperate self-loathing. She trusted 
him. She looked to him for protection. She leaned 
upon his strength. She needed him. He could not 
< — ^it almost seemed as if in common chivalry he could 


TKe Lion’s SKin 


211 


not — reveal to her the contemptible weakness which 
lay like a withering blight upon his whole nature. 
To own himself the slave of a married woman, and 
that woman her closest friend, would be to throw her 
utterly upon her own resources at a time when she 
most needed the support and guidance of a helping 
hand. Moreover, the episode was over; so at least 
both he and Daisy resolutely persuaded themselves. 
There had been a lapse — a vain and futile lapse — 
into the long-cherished idyll of their romance. It 
must never recur. It never should recur. It must 
be covered over and forgotten as speedily as might 
be. They had come to their senses again. They 
were ready, not only to thrust away the evil that had 
dominated them, but to ignore it utterly as though 
it had never been. 

So, rapidly, the man reasoned with himself with 
the girl’s hands clasping his arm in earnest entreaty, 
and her eyes of innocence raised to his. 

His answer when it came was slow and soft and 
womanly, but, in her ears at least, there was nothing 
wanting in it. She never dreamed that he was 
reviling himself for a blackguard even as he uttered it. 

“My dear little girl, there is nothing whatever for 
you to be afraid of. You’re a bit overstrung, aren’t 
you? The man is n’t living who could take you from 
me. 

He patted her shoulder very kindly, soothing her 
with a patient, almost fatherly tenderness, and gradu- 
ally her panic of fear passed. She leaned against 
him with a comforting sense of security. 

“I can’t think how it is I ’m so foolish,” she told 
him. “You are good to me, Blake. I feel so safe 
when I am with you.” 


£12 


The Way of an £ag;le 


His heart smote him, yet he bent and kissed her. 
^‘You’re not quite strong yet, dear,” he said. 
takes a long time to get over all that you had to bear 
last year.” 

'‘Yes,” she agreed with a sigh. "And do you 
know I thought I was so much stronger than I am? 
I actually thought that I should n’t mind — ^much — • 
when he came. And yet I did mind — horribly. I— 
I — told him about our engagement, Blake.” 

"Yes, dear,” said Blake. 

"Yes, I told him. And he laughed and Differed his 
congratulations. I don’t think he cared/"' said 
Muriel, again with that curious, inexplicable sensation 
of pain at her heart. 

"Why should he?” said Blake. 

She looked at him with momentary irresolution. 
"You know, Blake, I never told you. But I was— I 
was — engaged to him for about a fortnight that 
dreadful time at Simla.” 

To her relief she marked no change in Blake’s 
courteously attentive face. 

"You need not have told me that, dear,” he said 
quietly. 

"No, I know,” she answered, pressing his arm. 
"It would n’t make any difference to you. You are 
too great. And it was always a little bit against my 
will. But the breaking with him was terrible — 
terrible. He was so angry. I almost thought he 
would have killed me.” 

"My dear,” Blake said, "you shouldn’t dwell on 
these things. They are better forgotten.” 

"I know, I know,” she answered. "But they are 
just the very hardest of all things to forget. You 
must help me, Blake. Will you?” 


line Lion's SKin 


213 


will help vou/’ he answered steadily. 

And the resolution with which he spoke was an 
unspeakable coix^ort to her. Once more there darted 
across her mind >he wonder at her father's choice for 
her. How was it — how was it — that he had passed 
over this man and chosen Nick? 

Blake's own explanation of the mystery seemed to 
her suddenly weak and inadequate. She simply 
could not bring herself to believe that in a supreme 
moment he could be found wanting, was unthink- 
able that the giant frame and mighty sinews could 
belong to a personality that was lacking in a corres- 
ponding greatness. 

So she clung to her illusion, finding comfort therein, 
wholly blind to those failings in her protector which 
to the woman who had loved him from her earliest 
girlhood were as obvious and well-nigh as precious 
as his virtues. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


OLD FRIENDS MEET 

T MUST be getting back,” said Nick. 

1 He was sprawling at ease on the sofa in Jim’s 
study, blinking comfortably at the ceiling, as he made 
this remark. 

Jim himself had just entered the room. He drew 
up a chair to Nick’s side. 

^^You will be doing nothing of the sort to-night,” 
he returned, with a certain grimness. ^‘The motor 
has gone back to Redlands for your things. I saw to 
that an hour ago.” 

'^The deuce you did!” said Nick. He turned 
slightly to send a shifting glance over his brother. 

That was very officious of you, Jimmy,” he remarked. 

^‘Very likely,” conceded the doctor. have to 
be officious occasionally. And if you think that I 
mean to let you out of my sight in your present state 
of health, you make a big mistake. No, lie still, I 
tell you! You ’re like a monkey on wires. Lie still! 
Do you hear me, Nick?” 

Nick’s feet were already on the ground, but he did 
not rise. He sat motionless, as if weighing some 
matter in his mind. 

can’t stay with you, Jimmy,” he said at last, 
’ll spend to-night of course with all the pleasure in 
the world. But I ’m going back to Redlands to- 
214 


Old Friends Meet 


215 


morrow. I have a fancy for sleeping in my own crib 
just now. Come over and see me as often as you 
feel inclined, the oftener the better. And if you care 
to bring your science to bear upon all that is left of 
this infernally troublesome member of mine, I shall 
be charmed to let you. You m.-.y vivisect me to your 
heart’s content. But don’t ask me to be an in-patient, 
for it can’t be done. There are reasons.” 

Jim frowned at him. *^Do you know what will 
happen if you don’t take care of yourself?” he said 
brusquely. “You ’ll die.” 

Nick burst into a laugh, and lay back on the 
cushions. “ I was driven out of India by that threat,” 
he said. “It ’s getting a bit stale. You need n’t be 
afraid. I ’m not going to die at present. I ’ll take 
reasonable precautions to prevent it. But I won’t 
stay here, that ’s flat. I tell you, man, I can’t.” 

He glanced again at Jim, and, finding the latter 
closely watching him, abruptly shut his eyes. 

“I ’m going to open Redlands,” he said, “and I will 
have Olga to come and keep house for me. It ’ll be 
good practice for her. I ’ll take her back with me to- 
morrow, if you have no objection.” 

“Fine mischief you ’ll get up to, the pair of you,” 
grumbled Jim. 

“Very likely,” said Nick cheerily. “But we shan’t 
come to any harm, either of us. To begin with, I shall 
make her wait on me, hand and foot. She ’ll like 
that, and so shall I.” 

“Yes, you ’ll spoil her thoroughly.” said Jim. 
“And I shall have the pleasure of breaking her in 
afterwards.” 

Nick laughed again. “What an old tyrant you 
are! But you need n’t be afraid of that. I ’ll make 


XHe "Way of an Ha^le 


.n6 

her do as she ’s told. I ’m particularly good at that. 
Ask Muriel Roscoe.” 

Jim’s frown deepened. ‘‘You know of that girl’s 
engagement to Grange, I suppose?” 

Nick did not trouble to open his eyes. “Oh, 
rather! She took care- that I should. I gave her my 
blessing.” 

“Well, I don’t like it,” said Jim plainly. 

“What ’s the matter with him?” questioned Nick. 

“Nothing that I know of. But she isn’t in love 
with him.” 

Nick’s eyelids parted a little, showing a glint 
between. “You funny old ass!” he murmured affec- 
tionately. 

Jim leaned forward and looked at him hard. 

“Quite so,” said Nick in answer, closing his eyes 
again. “But you don’t by any chance imagine she ’s 
in love with me, do you? You know how a woman 
looks at a worm she has chopped in half by mistake? 
That ’s how Muriel Roscoe looked at me to-day when 
she expressed her regret for my mishap.” 

“She would n’t do that for nothing,” observed Jim, 
with a hint of sternness. 

“She would n’t,” Nick conceded placidly. 

“Then why the devil did you ever give her reason? ” 
Jim spoke with unusual warmth. Muriel was a 
favourite of his. 

But he obtained scant satisfaction notwithstanding. 

“Ask the devil,” said Nick Sippantly. “I never 
was good at definitions.” 

It was a tacit refusal to discuss the matter, and as 
such Jim accepted it. 

He turned from the subject with a grunt of discon- 
tent. “Well, if I am to undertake your case, you had 


Old Friends Meet 


917 


better let me look at you. But we ’ll have a clean 
understanding first, mind, that you obey my orders. 
I won’t be responsible otherwise.” 

Nick opened his eyes with a chuckle. “I’ll do 
anything under the sun to please you, Jimmy,” he 
said generously. “When did you ever find me hard 
to manage?” 

“You ’ve given me plenty of trouble at one time 
and another,” Jim said bluntly. 

“And shall again before I die,” laughed Nick, as he 
submitted to his brother’s professional handling. 
“There ’s plenty of kick left in me. By the way, tell 
me what you think about Daisy. I must call on her 
to-morrow before I leave.” 

This intention, however, was not fulfilled, for Daisy 
herself came early to the doctor’s house to visit him. 
Far from well though she was, she made the effort as 
a matter of course. Nick was too near a friend to 
neglect. Blake did not accompany her. He was 
riding with Muriel. 

She found Nick stretched out in luxurious idleness 
on a couch in the sunshine. He made a movement to 
spring to meet her, but checked himself with a laugh. 

“This is awfully good of you, Daisy. I was coming 
to see you later, but I ’m nailed to this confounded sofa 
for the next two hours, having solemnly sworn to Jim 
that nothing short of battle, murder or sudden death 
should induce me to move. I ’m afraid I can’t 
reasonably describe your coming as any of these, so I 
must remain a fixture. It ’s Jimmy’s rest cure. ” 

He reached out his hand to Daisy, who took it in 
both her own. “My poor dear Nick!” she said, and 
stooping impulsively kissed him on the forehead. 

“Bless you!” said Nick. “I ’m ten times better 


THe "Way of an Ea^le 


0i8 

for that. Sit down here, won’t you? Pull up close. 
I Ve got a lot to say.” 

Of sympathy for her recent bereavement, however, 
he said no word whatever. He only held her hand. 

'‘There’s poor old Will,” he said; "I spent the 
night with him on my way down. He ’s beastly 
homesick — sent all sorts of messages to you. You ’ll 
be going out in the winter?” 

"It depends,” said Daisy. 

"He ’s breaking his heart for you, like a silly ass,” 
said Nick. "How long has Muriel been engaged to 
Grange?” 

Daisy started at the sudden question. 

"It ’s all right,” Nick assured her. "I ’m not a bit 
savage. It ’ll be a little experience for her. When 
did it begin?” 

Daisy hesitated. "Some weeks ago now.” 

Nick nodded. "Exactly. As soon as she heard I 
was coming. Funny of her. And what of Grange? 
Is he smitten?” 

Daisy flushed painfully, and tried to laugh. " Don’t 
be so cold-blooded, Nick. Of course he — he’s fond 
of her.” 

"Oh, he — he ’s fond of her, is he?” said Nick. He 
looked at her suddenly, and laughed with clenched 
teeth. "I ’m infernally rude, I know. But why put 
it in thar way? Should you say I was ‘fond’ of 
her?” 

Daisy met his darting, elusive glance with a distinct 
effort. "I should n’t say you were fond of any one, 
Nick. The term does n’t apply where you are con- 
cerned. There never were two men more totally 
different than you and Blake. But he is n’t despicable 
for all that. He ’s a child compared to you, but he ’s 


Old Friends Meet 


219 


a good child. He would never do wrong unless some 
one tempted him.’' 

''That 's so with a good many of us,” remarked 
Nick, sneering faintly. ^'Let us hope that when the 
account comes to be totted up, allowance will be 
made.” 

Daisy’s hand upon his banished the sneer. ^^Be 
fair, Nick,” she urged. ‘'We are not all made with 
wills of iron. I know you are bitter because you think 
he is n’t good enough for her. But would you think 
any man good enough? Don’t think I wanted this. 
I was on your side. But I — I was busy at the time 
with — other things. And I did n’t see it coming.” 

Nick’s face softened. He said nothing. 

She bent towards him. “I would have given any- 
thing to have stopped it when I knew. But it was too 
late. Will you forgive me, Nick?” 

He patted her hand lightly. “Of course, of course. 
Don’t fret on my account.” 

“But I do,” she whispered vehemently. “I do. 
I know — how horribly — it hurts.” 

Nick’s fingers closed suddenly upon hers. His 
eyes went beyond her. 

“Mrs. Musgrave,” he said, “I am gifted with a 
superhuman intelligence, remember. I know some 
cards by their backs.” 

Daisy withdrew her hand swiftly. His tone had 
been one of warning. She threw him a look of sharp 
uneasiness. She did not ask him what he meant. 

“Tell me some more about Will,” she said. “I 
was thinking of writing to him to-day.” 

And Nick forthwith plunged into a graphic account 
of the man who was slaving night and day in the 
burning Plains of the East for the woman of his heart 


CHAPTER XXX 


AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP 

I T was with unspeakable relief that Muriel learned 
of Nick's departure. That he had elected to take 
Olga with him surprised her considerably and caused 
her some regret. Grange had discovered some urgent 
business that demanded his presence in town, and she 
missed the child in consequence more than she would 
otherwise have done. 

Daisy was growing stronger, and was beginning to 
contemplate a change, moved at last by Jim Ratcliffe's 
persistent urging. There was a cottage at Brethaven 
which, he declared, would suit her exactly. Muriel 
raised no objection to the plan. She knew it would 
be for Daisy's benefit, but her heart sank whenever 
she thought of it. She was glad when early in Jtme 
Blake came back to them for a few days before starting 
on a round of visits. 

He approved of the Brethaven plan warmly, and 
he and Muriel rode over one morning to the little 
seaside village to make arrangements. Muriel said 
no more to him upon the subject of Nick. On this 
one point she had come to know that it was vain to 
look for sympathy. He had promised to help her 
indeed, but he simply did not understand her nervous 
shrinking from the man. Moreover, Nick had made 
it so abundantly evident that he had no intention of 
220 


An Offer of FriendsKip ^21 

thrusting himself upon her that there could be no 
ground for fear on that score. Besides, was not her 
engagement her safeguard? 

As for Blake, her silence upon the matter made him 
hope that she was getting over her almost childish 
panic. With all the goodwill in the world, he could 
not see that his presence as watch-dog was required. 

Yet, as they turned from the cottage on the shore 
with their errand accomplished, he did say after some 
hesitation, ''Of course, if for any reason you should 
want me when I am away, you must let me know. I 
would come at once.’’ 

She thanked him with a heightened colour, and he 
had a feeling that his allusion had been unwelcome. 
They rode up from the beach in silence. 

Turning a sharp corner towards the village where 
they proposed to lunch, they came suddenly upon a 
motor stationary by the roadside. A whoop of cheery 
recognition greeted them before either of them realised 
that it was occupied, and they discovered Nick seated 
on the step, working with his one hand at the foot* 
brake. Olga was with him, endeavouring to assist. 

Nick’s face grinned welcome impartially to the 
newcomers. "Hullo! This is luck. Delighted to 
see you. Grange, my boy, here ’s a little job exactly 
suited to your Herculean strength. Climb down like 
a good fellow, and lend a hand.” 

Grange glanced at Muriel, and with a slight shrug 
handed her his bridle. "I’m not much good at this 
sort of thing,” he remarked, as he dismounted. 

"Never thought you were for a moment,” responded 
Nick. "But I suppose you can do as you ’re told at 
a pinch. This filthy thing has got jammed. It ’s 
too tough a job for a single-handed pigmy like me.” 


5222 


TKe Way of an Eagle 


He glanced quizzically up at Muriel with the last 
remark, but she quickly averted her eyes, bending 
to speak to Olga at the same instant. 

Olga was living in the seventh heaven just then, and 
her radiant face proclaimed it. ‘‘I'm learning to 
drive," she told Muriel. “It’s the greatest fun. 
You would just love it. I know you would." She 
stood fondling the horses and chattering while the two 
men wrestled with the motor’s internal arrangements, 
and Muriel longed desperately to give her animal the 
rein and flee away from the mocking sprite that gibed 
at her from Nick’s eyes. Whence came it, this feeling 
of insecurity, this perpetual sense of fighting against 
the inevitable? She had fancied that Blake’s presence 
would be her safeguard, but now she bitterly realised 
that it made no difference to her. He stood as it 
were outside the ropes, and was powerless to intervene. 

Suddenly she saw them stand up. The business 
was done. They stood for a second side by side — 
Blake gigantic, well-proportioned, splendidly strong; 
Nick, meagre, maimed, almost shrunken, it seemed. 
But in that second she knew with unerring conviction 
that the greater fighter of the two was the man against 
whom she had pitted her quivering woman’s strength. 
She knew at a single glance that for all his bodily weak- 
ness Nick possessed the power to dominate even so 
mighty a giant as Blake. What she had said to herself 
many a time before, she said again. He was abnormal, 
superhuman even; more — where he chose to exert 
himself, he was irresistible. 

The realisation went through her, sharp and pierc- 
ing, horribly distinct. She had sought shelter like a 
frightened rabbit in the densest cover she could find, 
but, crouching low, she heard the rush of the remorse- 


An Offer of FriendsHip 223 

less wings above her. She knew that at any moment 
he could rend her refuge to pieces and hold her at his 
mercy. 

Abruptly he left Blake and came to her side. 
want you and Grange to come to Redlands for lunch- 
eon/’ he said. ''Olga is hostess there. Don’t 
refuse.” 

"Oh, do come!” urged Olga, dancing eagerly upon 
one leg. "You ’ve never been to Redlands, have you? 
It ’s such a lovely place. Say you ’ll come, Muriel.” 

Muriel scarcely heard her. She was looking down 
into Nick’s face, seeking, seeking for the hundredth 
time, to read that baffling mask. 

" Don’t refuse,” he said again. "You ’ll get nothing 
but underdone chops at the inn here, and I can’t 
imagine that to be a weakness of yours.” 

She gave up her fruitless search. "I will come,” 
she said. 

"It’s exactly as you like, you know, Muriel,” 
Grange put in awkwardly. 

She understood the precise meaning of Nick’s laugh. 
She even for a moment wanted to laugh herself. 
"Thank you. I should like to,” she said. 

Nick nodded and turned aside. "Olga, stop caper- 
ing,” he ordered, "and drive me home.” 

Olga obeyed him promptly, with the gaiety of a 
squirrel. As Nick seated himself by her side, Muriel 
saw her turn impulsively and rub her cheek against 
his shoulder. It gave her a queer little tingling shock 
to see the child’s perfect confidence in him. But 
then — but then — Olga had never looked on horror, 
had never seen the devil leap out in naked fury upon 
her hero’s face. 

They waited to let the car go first, Olga proudly 


224 XHe "Way of an Ha^le 

grasping the wheel; then, trotting briskly, followed in 
its wake. 

Muriel had an uneasy feeling that Blake wanted to 
apologise, and she determined that he should not have 
the opportunity. Each time that he gave any sign 
of wishing to draw nearer to her, she touched her 
horse’s flank. Something in the nature of a revela- 
tion had come to her during that brief halt by the 
roadside. For the first time she had caught a glimpse, 
plain and unvarnished, of the actual man that in- 
habited the giant’s frame, and it had given her an 
odd, disturbing suspicion that the strength upon 
which she leaned was in simple fact scarcely equal 
to her own. 

The way to Redlands lay through leafy woodlands 
through which here and there the summer sea gleamed 
blue. Turning in at the open gates, Muriel uttered 
an exclamation of delight. She seemed to have 
suddenly entered fairyland. The house, long, low, 
rambling, roofed with thatch, stood at the end of a 
winding drive that was bordered on both sides by a 
blaze of rhododendron flowers. Down below her 
on the left was a miniature glen from which arose the 
tinkle of running water. On her right the trees grew 
thickly, completely shutting out the road. 

^'Oh, Blake!” she exclaimed. ‘^What a perfect 
paradise!” 

'^Like it?” said Nick; and with a start she saw him 
coolly step out from a shadowy path behind them and 
close the great iron gate. 

Impulsively she pulled up and slipped to the 
ground. ‘‘Take my horse, Blake,” she said. “I 
must run down to that stream.” 

He obeyed her, not very willingly, and Nick witfe 


An Offer of FriendsHip 225 

a chuckle turned and plunged after her down the 
narrow path. ''Go straight ahead!’' he called back. 
"Olga is waiting for you at the house." 

He came up with Muriel on the edge of the fairy 
stream. Her face was flushed and her eyes nervous, 
but she met him bravely. She had known in her 
heart that he would follow. As he stopped beside 
her, she turned with a little desperate laugh and held 
out her hand. 

"Is it peace?" she said rather breathlessly. 

She felt his fingers, tense as wire, close about her 
own. ' ' Seems Uke it , " he said. ' ' What are you afraid 
of? Me?" 

She could not meet his look. But the necessity for 
some species of understanding pressed upon her. She 
wanted unspeakably to conciliate him. 

"I want to be friends with you, Nick," she said, 
"if you will let me." 

"What for?" said Nick sharply. 

She was silent. She could not tell him that her 
sure defence had crumbled at a touch. Somehow she 
was convinced that he knew it already. 

"You never wanted such a thing before," he said. 
"You certainly weren’t hankering after it the last 
time we met." 

Her cheeks burned at the memory. Again she felt 
ashamed. With a great effort she forced herself to 
speak with a certain frankness. 

"I am afraid," she said — "I have thought since — 
that I was rather heartless that day. The fact was, I 
was taken by surprise. But I am sorry now, Nick. 
I am very sorry." 

Her tone was unconsciously piteous. Surely he 
must see that if they were to meet often, as inevitably 


C26 


THe Way of an E^agle 


they must, some sort of agreement between them was 
imperative. She must feel stable ground beneath her 
feet. Their intercourse could not be one perpetual 
passage of arms. Flesh and blood could never endure 
it. 

But Nick did not apparently view the matter in the 
same light. ''Pray don’t be sorry,” he airily begged 
her. "I quite understood. I never take offence 
where none is intended, and not always where it is. 
So dismiss the matter from your mind with all speed. 
There is not the smallest occasion for regret.” 

He meant to elude her, she saw, and she turned 
from him without another word. There was to be 
no understanding then, no friendly feeling, no peace 
of mind. She had trusted to his generosity, and it 
was quite clear that he had no intention of being 
generous. 

As they walked by a mossy pathway towards the 
house, they talked upon indifferent things. But the 
girl’s heart was very bitter within her. She would 
have given almost anything to have flung back his 
hospitality in his grinning, triumphant face, and 
have departed with her outraged pride to the farthest 
comer of the earth. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE EAGLE HOVERS 

L uncheon in the low, old-fashioned dining-room 
at Redlands with its windows facing the open 
sea, with Olga beaming at the head of the table, would 
have been a peaceful and pleasant meal, had Muriel’s 
state of mind allowed her to enjoy it. But Nick’s 
treatment of her overture had completely banished 
all enjo3nnent for her. She forced herself to eat and 
to appear unconcerned, but she was quivering in- 
wardly with a burning sense of resentment. She 
was firmly determined that she would never be alone 
with him again. He had managed by those few 
scoffing words of his to arouse in her all the bitterness 
of which she was capable. If she had feared him 
before, she hated him now with the whole force of her 
nature. 

He seemed to be blissfully unconscious of her 
hostility and played the part of host with complete 
ease of manner. Long before the meal was over, 
Grange had put aside his sullenness, and they were 
conversing together as comrades. 

Nick had plenty to say. He spoke quite openly of 
his illness, and declared himself to have completely 
recovered from it. ''Even Jim has ceased his grue- 
some threats,” he said cheerily. "There will be no 
more lopping of branches this season. Just as well, 
227 


228 THe Way of an £a^le 

for I chance to have developed an affection for what 
is Mtr 

''You 're going back to the Regiment, I suppose?’* 
Blake questioned. 

"No, he isn’t," thrust in Olga, and was instantly 
frowned upon by Nick. 

"Speak when you 're spoken to, little girl! That 's 
a question you are not qualified to answer. I 'm 
on half-pay at present, and I have n’t made up my 
mind." 

"I should quit in your place," Grange remarked, 
with his eyes on the dazzling sea. 

"No doubt you would," Nick responded dryly. 
"And what should you advise, Muriel?" 

The question was unexpected, but she had herself 
in hand, and answered it instantly. "I certainly 
should n’t advise you to quit." 

He raised his eyebrows. " Might one ask why ? ” 

She was quite ready for him, inspired by an over- 
mastering longing to hurt him if that were possible. 
"Because if you gave up your profession, you would be 
nothing but a vacuum. If the chance to destroy life 
were put out of your reach, you would simply cease to 
exist." 

She spoke rapidly, her voice pitched very low. She 
was trembling all over, and her hands were clenched 
under the table to hide it. 

The laugh with which Nick received her words 
jarred intolerably upon her. She heard nothing in it 
but deliberate cruelty. 

"Great Lucifer!" he said. "You have got me 
under the microscope with a vengeance. But you 
can’t see through me, you know. I have a reverse 
side. Had n’t you better turn me over and look at 


The Ea^le Hovers 229 

that ? There may be sorcery and witchcraft there 
as well/’ 

There might be. She could well have imagined it. 
But these were lesser things in which she had no con- 
cern. She turned his thrust aside with disdain. 

'‘I am not sufficiently interested,” she said. ‘^The 
little I know is enough.” 

''Well hit!” chuckled Nick. "I retire from the 
fray, discomfited. Olga mia^ I wish you would find the 
cigars. You know where they are.” 

Olga sprang to do his bidding. Having handed the 
box to Grange she came to Nick and stood beside him 
while she cut and lighted a cigar for him. 

He put his arm round her for a moment, and she 
stooped a flushed face and kissed the top of his head. 

"Run along,” said Nick. "Take Muriel into the 
garden. She has n’t seen it all.” 

Muriel rose. "We must n’t be late in starting 
back,” she remarked to Blake. 

But Olga lingered to whisper vehemently in Nick’s 
ear. 

He laughed and shook his head. "Go, child, go! 
You don’t knov/ anything about it. And Muriel is 
waiting. You should never keep a guest waiting.” 

Olga went reluctantly. They passed out into the 
clear June sunshine together and down towards the 
shady shrubberies beyond the lawns. 

"Can Nick play tennis?” Muriel asked, as they 
crossed a marked-out court. 

"Yes, he can do anything,” the child said proudly. 
"He was on horseback this morning, and he managed 
splendidly. We generally play tennis in the evening. 
He almost always wins. His services are terrific. I 
can’t think how he does it. He calls it juggling. I 


2SO TKe Way of &n Eagle 

try to manage with only one hand sometimes — just to 
keep him company — but I always make a mess of 
things. There 's no one in the world as clever as 
Nick.” 

Muriel felt inclined to agree with her, though in her 
opinion this distinguishing quality was not an alto- 
gether admirable one. She infinitely preferred people 
with fewer brains. She would not, however, say this 
to Olga, and they paced on together under the trees in 
silence. Suddenly a warm hand slid within her arm, 
and Olga’s grey eyes, very loving and wistful, looked up 
into hers. 

''Muriel darling,” she whispered softly, "don’t you 
— don’t you — like Nick after all?” 

The colour rushed over Muriel’s face in a vivid 
flood. 

"Like him! Like him!” she stammered. "Why 
do you ask?” 

"Because, dear — don’t be vexed, I love you fright- 
fully — you did hurt him so at lunch,” explained Olga, 
pressing very close to her. 

"Hurt him! Hurt him!” Again Muriel repeated 
her. words, then, recovering sharply, broke into a 
sudden laugh. "My dear child, I couldn’t possibly 
do such a thing if I tried.” 

"But you did, you did!” persisted Olga, a faint 
note of indignation in her voice. "You don’t know 
Mck. He feels — tremendously. Of course you might 
not see it, for it does n’t often show. But I know — I 
always know — when he is hurt, by the way he laughs. 
And he was hurt to-day.” 

She stuck firmly to her point, notwithstanding 
Muriel’s equally persistent attitude of incredulity, till 
even Muriel was conscious at last in her inner soul of ^ 


The Eagle Hovers 


231 


faint wonder, a dim and wholly negligible sense of re- 
gret, Not that she would under any circumstances 
have recalled that thrust of hers. She felt it had been 
dealt in fair fight; but even in fair fight there come 
sometimes moments of regret, when one feels that the 
enemy's hand has been intentionally slack. She knew 
well that, had he chosen, Nick might have thrust back, 
instantly and disconcertingly, as his manner was. 
But he had refrained, merely covering up his wound — > 
if wound there had been — with the laugh that had so 
wrung Olga’s loving heart. His ways were strange. 
She would never understand him. But she would like 
to have known how deep that thrust had gone. 

Could she have overheard the conversation between 
Nick and his remaining guest that followed her depart- 
ure, she might have received enlightenment on this 
point, but Nick took very good care to ensure that 
that conversation should be overheard by none. 

As soon as Grange had finished his coffee, he pro- 
posed a move to the library, and led the way thither, 
leaving his own drink untouched behind him. 

The library was a large and comfortable apartment 
completely shut away from the rest of the house, and 
singularly ill-adapted for eavesdroppers. The win- 
dows looked upon a wide stretch of lawn upon which 
even a bird could scarcely have lingered unnoticed. 
The light that filtered in through green sun-blinds was 
cool and restful. An untidy writing-table and a sofa 
strewn with cushions in disorderly attitudes testified 
to the fact that Nick had appropriated this room for 
his own particular den. There was also a sun-bonnet 
tossed upon a chair which seemed to indicate that Olga 
at least did not regard his privacy as inviolable. The 
ancient brown volumes stacked upon shelves that 


I 


XHe "Way of an £.a^le 


232 

ranged almost from floor to ceiling were comfortably 
undisturbed. It was plainly a sanctum in which ease 
and not learning ruled supreme. 

Nick established his visitor in an easy-chair and 
hunted for an ash-tray. Grange watched him 
uncomfortably. 

’m awfully sorry about your arm, Ratcliffe,’’ he 
said at length. filthy bit of bad luck that.” ' 

‘^Damnable,” said Nick. 

I Ve been meaning to look you up for a long time,” 
Grange proceeded, '^but somehow it hasn’t come 
off.” 

Nick laughed rather dryly. He was perfectly well 
aware that Grange had been steadily avoiding him 
ever since his return. ‘'Very good of you,” he said, 
subsiding upon the sofa and pulling the cushions about 
him. “I Ve been saving up my congratulations for 
you all these weeks. I might have written, of course, 
but I had a notion that the spoken word would be 
more forcible.” 

Grange stirred uneasily, neither understanding nor 
greatly relishing Nick’s tone. He wished vehemently 
that he would leave the subject alone. 

Nick, however, had no such intention. A faint 
fiendish smile was twitching the corners of his lips. 
He did not even glance in Blake’s direction. There 
was no need. 

“Well, I wish you joy,” he said lightly. 

“Thank you,” returned Grange, without elation 
and with very little gratitude. In some occult 
fashion, Nick was making it horribly awkward for 
him. He longed to change the subject, but could find 
nothing to say — possibly because Nick quite obviously 
had not yet done with it. 


TKe Ea^le Hovers 233 

Going to get married before you sail?” he asked 
abruptly. 

** I don't think so.” Very reluctantly Grange made 
reply. 

'*Why not?” said Nick. 

Muriel does n't want to be married till she is out 
of mourning,” Grange explained. 

^'Why doesn't she go out of mourning then?” 

Grange did n't know, had n’t even thought of it. 

Perhaps she will elect to wear mourning all her 
life,” suggested Nick. '^Have you thought of that?” 

There was a distinct gibe in this, and Grange at 
once retreated to a less exposed position. I am quite 
willing to wait for her,” he said. “And she knows 
it.” 

“You 're deuced easily pleased then,” rejoined Nick. 
“And let me tell you — for I 'm sure you don't know — 
there 's not a single woman under the sun who appre- 
ciates that sort of patience.” 

Grange ignored the information with a decidedly 
sullen air. He did not regard Nick as particularly well 
qualified to give him advice upon such a subject. 

After a moment Nick saw his attitude, and laughed 
aloud. “Yes, say it, man ! It 's quite true in a sense, 
and I should n't contradict you if it were n't. But has 
it never occurred to you that I was under a terrific 
disadvantage from the very beginning? Do you re- 
member that I undertook the job that you shirked? 
Or do you possibly present the matter to yourself — and 
others — in some more attractive form?” 

He turned upon his elbow with the question and 
regarded Grange with an odd expectancy. But 
Grange smoked in silence, not raising his eyes. 

Suddenly Nick spoke in a different tone, a tone that 


234 


XKe of an Ea^le 


was tense without vibrating. It does n’t matter how 
you put it. The truth remains. You did n’t love hef 
then. If you had loved her, you must have been 
ready — as I was ready — to make the final sacrifice. 
But you were not ready. You hung back. You let 
me take the place which only a man who cared enough 
to protect her to the uttermost could have taken. 
You let me do this thing, and I did it. I brought her 
through imtouched. I kept her — night and day I kept 
her — ^from harm of any sort. And she has been my 
first care ever since. You won’t believe this, I dare- 
say, but it ’s true. And — mark this well — I will only 
let her go to the man who will make her happy. Once 
I meant to be that man. You don^t suppose, do you, 
that I brought her safe through hell just for the 
pleasure of seeing her marry another fellow? But 
it ’s all the same now what I did it for. I Ve been 
knocked out of the running.” His eyelids suddenly 
quivered as if at a blow. “It does n’t matter to you 
how. It was n’t because she fancied any one else. 
She had n’t begun to think of you in those days. I 
let her go, never mind why. I let her go, but she is 
still in my keeping, and will be till she is the actual 
property of another man — yes, and after that too. 
I saved her, remember. I won the right of guardian- 
ship over her. So be careful what you do. Marry her 
if you love her. But if you don’t, leave her alone. 
She shall be no man’s second best. That I swear.’*" 

He ceased abruptly. His yellow face was full of 
passion. His hand was clenched upon the sofa- 
cushion. The whole body of the man seemed to 
thrill and quiver with electric force. 

And then in a moment it all passed. As at the 
touching of a spring his muscles relaxed. The naked 


The Ea^le Hovers 235 

passion was veiled again — the old mask of banter 
replaced. 

He stretched out his hand to the man who had sat 
in silence and listened to that one fierce outburst of a 
force which till then had contained itself. 

^'1 speak as a fool/’ he said lightly. ^'Nothing new 
for me, you ’ll say. But just for my satisfaction — 
because she hates me so — put your hand in mine and 
swear you will seek her happiness before everything 
else in the world. I shall never trouble you again 
after this fashion. I have spoken.” 

Blake sat for several seconds without speaking. 
Then, as if impelled thereto, he leaned slowly forward 
and laid his hand in Nick’s. He seemed to have 
something to say, but it did not come. 

Nick waited. 

swear,” Blake said at length. 

His voice was low, and he did not attempt to look 
Nick in the face, but he obviously meant what he said. 

And Nick seemed to be satisfied. In less than five 
seconds, he had tossed the matter carelessly aside as 
one having no further concern in it. But the memory 
of that interview was as a searing flame to Blake’s 
soul for long after. 

For he knew that the man from whom Muriel had 
sought his protection was more worthy of her than he, 
and his heart cried bitter shame upon him for that 
knowledge. 

It was with considerable difficulty that he responded 
to Nick’s airy nothings during the half-hour that 
followed, and the unusual alacrity with which he 
seized upon his host’s suggestion that he might care 
to see the garden, testified to his relief at being released 
from the obligation of doing so. 


236 


TKe of an Ea^le 


They went out together on to the wide lawn and 
sauntered down to a summer-house on the edge of the 
cliff, overlooking the whole mighty expanse of sea. 
It lay dreaming in the sunlight, with hardly a ripple 
upon the long white beach below. And here they came 
upon Muriel and Olga, sitting side by side on the grass. 

Olga had just finished pulling a daisy to pieces. 
She tossed it away at Nick's approach, and sprang to 
meet him. 

'' It 's very disappointing," she declared. It 's the 
fourth time I 've done it, and it always comes the 
same. I Ve been making the daisies tell Muriel's 
fortune, and it always comes to ^ He would if he could, 
but he can't.’ You try this time, Nick." 

‘‘All right. You hold the daisy," said Nick. 

Muriel looked up with a slightly heightened colour. 
“I think we ought to be going," she remarked. 

“We have just ordered the horses for four o'clock," 
Grange said apologetically. 

She glanced at the watch on her wrist — half-past 
three. Nick, seated cross-legged on the grass in front 
of her, had already, with Olga's able assistance, begun 
his game. 

Swiftly the tiny petals fell from his fingers. He was 
very intent, and in spite of herself Muriel became intent 
too, held by a most unaccountable fascination. So 
handicapped was he that he could not even pull a 
flower to pieces without assistance. And yet 

Suddenly he looked across at her. ‘ ‘ He loves her ! " 
he announced. 

“Oh, Nick!" exclaimed Olga reproachfully. “You 
cheated! You pulled off two!" 

“He usually does cheat," Muriel observed, plucking 
a flower of grass and regarding it with absorption. 


XHe Ea^le Hovers 


237 


**So do you/’ retorted Nick unexpectedly. 

She looked at him in amazement. ‘‘What 
do you mean?” 

“ I sha’n’t tell you,” he returned, “ because you know, 
or you would know if you took the trouble to find out. 
Grange, I wish you would give me a light. Hullo, 
Olga, there ’s a hawk! See him? Straight above 
that cedar!” 

All turned to look at the dark shape of the bird hover- 
ing in mid-air. Seconds passed. Suddenly there was 
a flashing, downward swoop, and th^ sky was empty. 

Olga exclaimed, and Nick sent up a wild whoop of 
applause. Muriel gave a great start and glanced at 
him. For a single instant his look met hers; then 
with a sick shudder, she turned aside. 

“You are cold,” said Grange. 

Yes, she was cold. It was as if an icy hand had 
closed upon her heart. As from an immense distance, 
she heard Olga’s voice of protest. 

“Oh, Nfck, how can you cheer?” 

And his careless reply. “My good child, don’t 
grudge the poor creature his dinner. Even a bird of 
prey must live. Come along! We ’ll go in to tea. 
Muriel is cold.” 

They went in, and again his easy hospitality over- 
came all difficulties. 

When at length the visitors rode away, they left 
him grinning a cheery farewell from his doorstep. 
He seemed to be in the highest spirits. 

They were more than half-way home when Muriel 
turned impetuously to her companion, breaking a 
long silence. 

“Blake,” she said, “I am ready to marry you as 
soon as you like.” 


PART IV 


CHAPTER XXXII 

THE FACE IN THE STORM 

M uriel saw very little of her fianci during the 
weeks that followed their visit to Redlands, 
There was not indeed room for him at the cottage 
at Brethaven which she and Daisy had taken for the 
summer months. He had, moreover, several visits 
to pay, and his leave would be up in September. 

Muriel herself, having once made her decision, had 
plenty to occupy her. They had agreed to adhere to 
Sir Reginald Bassett's plan for them, and to be married 
in India some time before Christmas. But she did not 
want to go to Lady Bassett’s sister before she left 
England, and she was glad when Daisy declared that 
she herself would go to town with her in the autumn. 

A change had come over Daisy of late, a change 
which Muriel keenly felt, but which she was powerless 
to define. It seemed to date from the arrival of Nick 
though she did not definitely connect it with him. 
There was nothing palpable in it, nothing even 
remotely suggestive of a breach between them; only, 
subconsciously as it were, Muriel had become aware 
that their silence, which till then had been the silence 
of sympathy, had subtly changed till it had become 
the silence of a deep though unacknowledged reserve. 
238 


THe Face irx tHe Storm 


239 


It was wholly intangible, this change. No outsider 
would have guessed of its existence. But to the 
younger girl it was always vaguely present. She 
knew that somewhere between herself and her friend 
there was a locked door. Her own reserve never 
permitted her to attempt to open it. With a species 
of pride that was largely composed of shyness, she 
held aloof. But she was never quite unconscious of 
the opposing barrier. She felt that the old sweet 
intimacy, that had so lightened the burden of her 
solitude, was gone. 

Meanwhile, Daisy was growing stronger, and 
day by day more active. She never referred to her 
baby, and very seldom to her husband. When his 
letters arrived she invariably put them away with 
scarcely a glance. Muriel sometimes wondered if 
she even read them. It was pitifully plain to her 
that Will Musgrave’s place in his wife’s heart was 
very, very narrow. It had dwindled perceptibly 
since the baby’s death. 

On the subject of Will’s letters, Nick could have 
enlightened her, for he always appeared at the cottage 
on mail-day for news. But Muriel, having discovered 
this habit, as regularly absented herself, with the result 
that they seldom met. He never made any effort to 
see her. On one occasion when she came unexpectedly 
upon him and Olga, shrimping along the shore, she 
was surprised that he did not second the child’s eager 
proposal that she should join them. He actually 
seemed too keen upon the job in hand to pay her much 
attention. 

And gradually she began to perceive that this was 
the attitude towards her that he had decided to assume. 
What it veiled she knew not, nor did she inquire. It 


XHe W^ay of an £a^le 

was enough for her that hostilities had ceased. Nick 
apparently was bestowing his energies elsewhere. 

Midsummer passed, and a July of unusual heat drew 
on. Dr. Jim and his wife and boys had departed to 
Switzerland. Nick and Olga had elected to remain 
at Redlands. They were out all day long in the motor 
or dogcart, on horseback or on foot. Life was one 
perpetual picnic to Olga just then, and she was not 
looking forward to the close of the summer holidays 
when, so her father had decreed, she was to return 
to her home and the ordinary routine. Nick's plans 
were still unsettled though he spoke now and then of 
a prospective return to India. He must in any case 
return thither, so he once told her, whether he decided 
to remain or not. It was not a pleasant topic to 
Olga, and she always sought to avoid any allusion to 
it. After the fashion of children, she lived in the 
present, and enjoyed it to the full : bathing with Muriel 
every morning, and spending the remainder of the 
day in Nick's society. The friendship between these 
two was based upon complete understanding. They 
had been comrades as long as Olga could remember. 
Given Nick, it was very seldom that she desired any 
one besides. 

Muriel had ceased to marvel over this strange fact. 
She had come to realise that Nick was, and always 
must be, an enigma to her. In the middle of July, 
when the heat was so intense as to be almost intoler- 
able, Daisy received a pressing invitation to visit an 
old friend, and to go yachting on the Broads. She 
refused it at first point-blank; but Muriel, hearing of 
the matter before the letter was sent, interfered, and 
practically insisted upon a change of decision. 

It is the very thing for you," she declared. “ Bret- 


TKe Face in tHe Storm ^41 

haven has done its best for you. But you want a 
dose of more bracing air to make you quite strong 
again. It 's absurd of you to dream of throwing away 
such an opportunity. I simply won’t let you do 
it.” 

”But how can I possibly leave you all alone?” 
Daisy protested. '‘If the Ratcliffes were at home, I 
might think of it, but ” 

“That settles it,” Muriel announced with determina- 
tion. ‘ ‘ I never heard such nonsense in my life. What 
do you think could possibly happen to me here? You 
know perfectly well that a couple of weeks of my own 
society would do me no harm whatever.” 

So insistent was she, that finally she gained her 
point, and Daisy, albeit somewhat reluctantly, de- 
parted for Norfolk, leaving her to her own devices. 

The heat was so great in those first days of solitude 
that Muriel was not particularly energetic. Apart 
from her early swim with Olga, and an undeniably 
languid stroll in the evening, she scarcely left the pre- 
cincts of the cottage. No visitors came to her. 
There were none but fisher-folk in the little village. 
And so her sole company consisted of Daisy’s ayah 
and the elderly English cook. 

But she did not suffer from loneliness. She had 
books and work in plenty, and it was even something 
of a relief, though she never owned it, to be apart from 
Daisy for a httle. They never disagreed, but always 
at the back of her mind there lay the consciousness of 
a gulf between them. 

She was at first somewhat anxious lest Nick should 
feel called upon to entertain her, and should invite her 
to accompany him and Olga upon some of their ex- 
peditions. But he did not apparently think of it, and 
16 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


242 

she was always very emphatic in assuring Olga that 
she was enjoying her quiet time. 

She and Nick had not met for some weeks, and she 
began to think it more than probable that they would 
not do so during Daisy’s absence. Under ordinary 
circumstances this expectation of hers would doubtless 
have been realised, for Nick had plainly every inten- 
tion of keeping out of her way; but the day of emer- 
gency usually dawns upon a world of sleepers. 

The brooding heat culminated at last in an evening 
of furious storm, and Muriel speedily left the dinner- 
table to watch the magnificent spectacle of vivid and 
almost continuous lightning over the sea. It was a 
wonder that always drew her. She did not feel the 
nervous oppression that torments so many women, 
or if she felt it she rose above it. The splendour of 
the rising storm lifted her out of herself. She had 
no thought for anything else. 

For more than half an hour she stood by the little 
sitting-room window, gazing out upon the storm- 
tossed water. It had not begun to rain, but the sound 
of it was in the air, and the earth was waiting ex- 
pectantly. There seemed to be a feeling of expecta- 
tion everywhere. She was vaguely restless under it^ 
curiously impatient for the climax. 

It came at last, so suddenly, so blindingly, that she 
reeled back against the curtain in sheer, physical recoil. 
The whole sky seemed to burst into flame, and the 
crash of thunder was so instantaneous that she felt as 
if a shell had exploded at her feet. Trembling, she 
hid her face. The world seemed to rock all around 
her. For the first time she was conscious of fear. 

Then as the thunder died into a distant roar, the 
heavens opened as if at a word of command, and 


The Face in the Storm 243 

in one marvellous, glittering sheet the rain burst 
forth. 

She lifted her head to gaze upon this new wonder 
that the incessant lightning revealed. The noise was 
like the sharp rattle of musketry, and it almost 
drowned the heavier artillery overhead. The window 
was blurred and streaming, but the brilliance outside 
was such that every detail in the little garden was 
clear to her notwithstanding. And though she still 
trembled, she nerved herself to look forth. 

An instant later she sprang backwards with a wild 
cry of terror. A face — a wrinkled face that she knew 
— was there close against the window-pane, and had 
looked into her own. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE LIFTING OF THE MASK 

O UT of a curious numbness that had almost been 
a swoon there came to hei the consciousness of 
a hand that rapped and rapped and rapped upon the 
pane. She had fled away to the farther end of the 
room in her panic. She had turned the lamp low 
at the beginning of the storm, and now it burned so 
dimly that it scarcely gave out any light at all. Be- 
yond the window, the lightning flashed with ax ^wful 
luridness upon the rushing hail. Beyond the window, 
looking in upon her, and knocking, knocking, knock- 
ing, stood the figure of her dread. 

She came te herself slowly, with a quaking heart. 
It was more horrible to her than anything she had 
known since the days of her flight from the beleaguered 
fort ; but she knew that she must fight down her horror, 
she knew as certainly as if a physical force compelled 
her that she would have to go to the window, would 
have to open to the man who waited there. 

Slowly she brought her quivering body into sub-* 
jection, while every nerve twitched and clamoured to 
escape. Slowly she dragged herself back to the 
vision that had struck her with that paralysis of 
terror. Resisting feebly, invisibly compelled, she went. 

He ceased to knock, and, his face against the pane, 
he spoke imperatively. What he said, she could not 
244 


THe Lifting of tKe MasK 


245 


hear in that tumult of mighty sound. Only she felt 
his insistence, answered to it, was mastered by it. 

White-faced, with horror clutching at her heart, she 
undid the catch. His one hand, strong, instinct with 
energy, helped her to raise the sash. In a moment he 
was in the room, bareheaded, drenched from head to 
foot. 

She fell back before him, but he scarcely looked at 
her. He shut the window sharply, then strode to the 
lamp, and turned it up. Then, abruptly he wheeled 
and spoke in a voice half-kindly, half-contemptuous. 
'‘Muriel, you’re a little idiot!” 

There was little in the words to comfort her, yet she 
was instantly and vastly reassured. She was also for 
the moment overwhelmingly ashamed, but he did not 
give her time to think of that. 

“I could n’t get in any other way,” he said. “I 
tried the doors first, hammered at them, but no one 
came. Look here! Olga is ill, very ill, and she wants 
you badly. Are you brave enough to come?” 

“Oh!” Muriel said, with a gasp. “Now, do you 
mean? With — with you?” 

He threw her an odd look under his flickering eye- 
lids, and she noted with a scared minuteness of atten- 
tion the gleam of the lamplight on their pale lashes. 
She had always hated pale eyelashes. They seemed 
to her untrustworthy. 

“Yes,” he told her grimly. “All alone — with me — 
in the storm. Shall you be afraid — ^if I give you my 
hand to hold? You ’ve done it before.” 

Was he mocking her weakness? She could not say. 
She only knew that he watched her with the intensity 
of an eagle that marks its quarry. He did not mean 
her to refuse. 


246 


XKe Way of an Ea^le 


**What is the matter with Olga?’’ she asked. 

''I don’t know. I believe it is sunstroke. We 
were motoring in the mid-day heat. She did n’t seem 
to feel it at the time, but her head ached when we got 
in. She is in a high fever now. I ’ve sent my man on 
in the motor to fetch Jim’s locum from Weir. I should 
have brought the dogcart myself, to fetch you, but I 
could n’t trust the horse in this.” 

‘‘You left her alone to come here?” Muriel 
questioned. 

He nodded. “I had no choice. She wished it. 
Besides, there were none but women-folk left. 
She ’s got one of them with her, the least imbecile of 
the lot, which is n’t saying much. They ’re all terri- 
fied of course at the storm — all except Olga. She is 
never afraid of anything.” 

A frightful crash of thunder carried away his words. 
Before it had rolled away, Muriel was at the door. 
She made a rapid sign to him, and was gone. 

Nick chafed up and down the room, waiting for her. 
The storm continued with unabated violence, but he 
did not give it a thought. He was counting the 
moments with feverish impatience. 

Muriel’s absence scarcely lasted for five minutes, 
but when she came back all trace of fear had left her. 
Her face showed quiet and matter-of-fact above the 
long waterproof in which she had wrapped herself. 
Over her arm she carried a waterproof cloak. 

She held it out to him. “It ’s one of Daisy’s, but 
you are to wear it. I think you must be mad to have 
come out without anything.” 

She put it round his shoulders; and he thanked her 
with a smothered laugh. 

A terrific blast of wind and rain met them as they 


The Lifting of the MasK 


247 


emerged from the cottage, nearly whirling Muriel off 
her feet. She made an instinctive clutch at her com- 
panion and instantly her hand was caught fast in his. 
He drew her arm close under his own, and she did not 
resisr him. There was something reassuring in his 
touch. 

Later she wondered if they spoke at all during that 
terrible walk. She could never recall a word on either 
side. And yet, though in a measure frightened, she 
was not panic-stricken. 

The storm was beginning to subside a little before 
they reached Redlands, though the rain still fell 
heavily. In the intervals between the lightning it was 
pitch dark. They had no lantern, but Nick was undis- 
mayed. He walked as lightly and surely as a cat, and 
Muriel had no choice but to trust herself unreservedly 
to his guidance. She marvelled afterwards at the 
complete trust with which that night he had managed 
to inspire her, but at the time she never questioned it. 

Yet when the lights of Redlands shone at last 
through the gloom, she breathed a sigh of relief. In- 
stantly Nick spoke. 

‘‘Well done!” he said briefly. “You are your 
father’s daughter still. ” 

She knew that she flushed in the darkness, and 
was glad that he could not see her face. 

“You must go and get dry, first of all, ” he went on. 
“I told them to light a fire somewhere. And you are 
to have some coffee too. Mind, I say it. ” 

To this she responded with some spirit. “I will if 
you will. ” 

“I must go straight to Olga,’* he said. “I promised 
2 would.” 

“ Not in your wet things I ” Muriel exclaimed. ‘ ' No, 


248 TKe Way of an Ea^le 

Nick! Listen! I am not wet, not as you are. Let 
me go to Olga first. You can send me some coffee 
in her room if you like. But you must go at once and 
change. Promise you will, Nick!” , 

She spoke urgently. For some reason the occasion 
seemed to demand it. 

Nick was silent for a little, as if considering. Then 
as they finally reached the porch he spoke in a tone 
she did not altogether fathom. 

“ I say, you are not going to shut me out, you know. ” 

She looked up in astonishment. ^'Of course not. 
I never dreamt of such a thing. ” 

^'All right,” he said, and this time she knew he 
spoke with relief. ''I will do as you like then.*' 

A moment more, and he opened the door, standing 
aside for her to pass. She entered quickly, glad to be 
in shelter, and paused to slip off her streaming water- 
proof. He took it from her, passing his hand over her 
sleeve. 

”.You are sure you are not wet through?** 

** Quite sure, ** she told him. Take me straight up, 
won*t you?*’ 

Yes. Come this way. ” 

He preceded her up the wide stairs where he might 
have walked beside her, not pausing for an instant till 
he stood at Olga’s door. 

‘^Go straight in,” he said then. ‘‘She is expecting 
you. Tell her, if she wants to know, that I am coming 
directly.” 

He passed on swiftly with the words, and disappeared 
into a room close by. 

Very softly Muriel turned the door-handle and 
entered. Olga’s voice greeted her before she was well 
in the room. It sounded husky and strained. 


XHe Liftini^ of tHe MasK 249 

‘‘Muriel! Dear Muriel! I’m so glad you’ve 
come. I ’ve wanted you so you can’t think. Where ’s 
Nick?” 

“He is coming, dearest.” Muriel went forward 
to the bed, and took in hers the two hands eagerly 
extended. 

The child was lying in an uneasy position, her hair 
streaming in a disordered tangle about her flushed face. 
She was shivering violently though the hands Muriel 
held were burning. “You came all through this awful 
storm,” she whispered. “It was lovely of you, dear. 
I hope you were n’t frightened.” 

Muriel sat down beside her. “And you have been 
left all alone,” she said. 

“I didn’t mind,” gasped Olga. “Mrs. Ellis — ■ 
that ’s the cook — was here at first. But she was such 
an ass about the thunder that I sent her away. I 
expect she ’s in the coal cellar.” 

A gleam of fun shone for an instant in her eyes, and 
was gone. The fevered hands closed tightly in Muriel’s 
hold. “I feel so ill,” she murmured, “so ill.” 

“Where is it, darling?” Muriel asked her tenderly. 

“It ’s, it ’s all over me, ” moaned Olga. “My head 
worst, and my throat. My throat is dreadful. It 
makes me want to cry. 

There was little that Muriel could do to ease her* 
She tied back the tossing hair, and rearranged the bed« 
clothes; then sat down by her side, hoping she might 
get some sleep. 

Not long after, Nick crept in on slippered feet, but 
Olga heard him instantly, and started up with out- 
flung arms. ‘ ‘ Nick, darling, I want you ! I want you ! 
Come quite close! I think I ’m going to die. Don’t 
let me, Nick!” 


250 


XHe Way of an Ea^le 


Muriel rose to make room for him, but he motioned 
her back sharply; then knelt down himself by the 
child’s pillow and took her head upon his arm. 

Stick to it, sweetheart!” he murmured softly o 

There ’s a medicine man coming, and you ’ll be better 
presently.” Olga cuddled against him with a sigh, 
and comforted by the close holding of his arm dropped 
presently into an uneasy doze. 

Nick never stirred from his position, and mutely 
Muriel sat and watched him. There was a wonderful 
tenderness about him just then, a softness with which 
she was strangely familiar, but which almost she had 
forgotten. If she had never seen him before that 
moment, she knew that she would have liked him. 

He seemed to have wholly forgotten her presence. 
His entire attention was concentrated upon the child. 
His lips twitched trom time to time, and she knew that 
he was very anxious, intensely impatient under his 
stillness for the doctor’s coming. She remembered 
that old trick of his. She had never before associated 
it with any emotion. 

Suddenly he turned his head as if he had felt her 
scrutiny, and looked straight into her eyes. It was 
only for a moment. His glance flickered beyond her 
with scarcely a pause. Yet it was to h^r as if by that 
swift look he had spoken, had for the first time made 
deep and passionate protest against her bitter judg- 
ment of him, had as it were shown her in a single flash 
the human heart beneath the jester’s garb. 

And again very deep down in her soul there stirred 
that blind, unconscious entity, of the existence of 
which she herself had so vague a knowledge, feeling 
upwards, groping outwards, to the light. 

There came upon her a sudden curious sense of con- 


THe Lifting of tKe MasK 


251 


stemation — a feeling as of a mental earthquake when 
the very foundations of the soul are shaken. Had 
she conceivably been mistaken in him? With all her 
knowledge of him, had she by some strange mischance 
• — some maddening, some inexplicable misapprehen- 
sion — failed utterly and miserably to see this man as 
he really was? 

For the first time the question sprang up within her. 
And she found no answer to it — only that breathless, 
blank dismay. 

Softly Nick’s voice broke in upon her seething doubt. 
He had laid Olga back upon the pillow. 

^ ‘ The doctor is here. Do you mind staying with her 
while I go?” 

''You ’ll come back, Nick?” the child urged, in her 
painful whisper. 

"Yes, I’ll come back,” he promised. "Honest 
Injun!” 

He touched her cheek lightly at parting, and Olga 
caught the caressing hand and pressed it against her 
burning lips. Muriel saw his face as he turned from 
the bed. It was all softened and quivering with 
emotion. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


AT THE GATE OF DEATH 

I N the morning they knew the worst. Olga had 
scarlet fever. 

The doctor imparted the news to Nick and Muriel 
standing outside the door of the sick-room. Nick’s 
reception of it was by no means characteristic. For 
the first time in her life Muriel saw consternation 
undisguised upon the yellow face. 

“Great Jupiter!” he said. “What a criminal ass 
lam!” 

At another moment she could have laughed at the 
tragic force of his self-arraignment. Even as it was, 
she barely repressed a smile as she set his mind at rest. 
She needed no explanation. It was easy enough to 
follow the trend of his thoughts just then. 

“If you are thinking of me,” she said, “I have had 
it.” 

She saw his instant relief, though he merely acknow- 
ledged the statement by a nod. 

“Wa must have a nurse,” he said briefly. “We 
shall manage all right then. I ’ll do my turn. Oh, 
stuff!” at a look from the doctor. “I sha’n’t hurt- 
I ’m much too tough a morsel for microbes to feed on. ” 
Possibly the doctor shared this opinion, for he made 
no verbal protest. It fell to Muriel to do this later in 
the day when the nurse was installed, and she was at 
252 


At tHe Gate of DeatH 


253 


Kberty to leave Olga’s room. Nick had just returned 
from the post-office whence he had been sending a mes- 
sage to the child’s father. She came upon him steal- 
ing up to take a look at her. Seeing Muriel he stopped. 
‘^Howisshe?” 

Muriel moved away to an open window at the end of 
the passage before she made reply. He followed her, 
and they stood together, looking out upon the sunset. 

^‘The fever is very high,” she said. ‘'And she is 
suffering a good deal of pain. She is not quite herself 
at times.” 

“You mean she is worse?” He looked at her 
keenly. 

It was exactly what she did mean. Olga had been 
growing steadily worse all day. Yet when abruptly 
he turned to leave her, Muriel laid a hasty hand upon 
his arm. 

“Nick, ” she said, and her voice was almost implor- 
ing, “don’t go in! Please don’t go in!” 

He stopped short. “Why not?” 

She removed her hand quickly. “ It ’s so dangerous 
—-besides being unnecessary. Won’t you be sensible 
about it?” 

He gave his head a queer upward jerk, and stood as 
one listening, not looking at her. “What for?” 

She could not think of any very convincing reason 
for the moment. Yet it was imperative that he should 
see the matter as she saw it. 

“Suppose I had not had it,” she ventured, “what 
would you have done?” 

“ Packed you off to the cottage again double quick, 
said Nick promptly. 

It was the answer she had angled for. She seized 
upon it. “Well, tell me why.” 


354 


XHe Way of an I^a^le 


He spun round on his heels and faced her. He was 
blinking very rapidly. ‘‘You asked me that question 
once before/’ he said. “And out of a sentimental 
consideration for your feelings — I did n’t answer it. 
Do you really want an answer this time, or shall I go 
on being sentimentally considerate?” 

She heard the old subtle jeering note in his voice, 
but its effect upon her was oddly different from what 
it had ever been before. It did not anger her, nor did 
it wholly frighten her. It dawned upon her suddenly 
that, though possibly it lay in his power to hurt her, 
he would not do so. 

She answered him with composure. “I don’t want 
you to be anything but sensible, Nick. And it is n’t 
sensible to expose yourself to unnecessary risk. It ’s 
wrong. ” 

“That ’s my lookout,” said Nick. 

It was indubitably; but she wanted very much to 
gain her point. 

“Won’t you at least keep away unless she asks for 
you?” she urged. 

“You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me,” said 
Nick. 

“I am not,” she returned quickly. “I am not. 
You know it is n’t that. ” 

“Do I ?” he said quizzically. “It ’s one of the few 
things I should n’t have known without being told. 
Well, I ’m sorry I can’t consent to be sensible as you 
call it. I am quite sure personally that there is n’t the 
slightest danger. It is n’t so infectious at this stage, 
you know. Perhaps by-and-by, when she is through 
the worst, I will think about it. ” 

He spoke lightly, but she was aware of the anxiety 
that underlay the words. She said no more, reminding 


At tKe Gate of DeatK 


^55 

herself that argument with Nick was always futile, 
sometimes worse. Nevertheless she foimd some com- 
fort in the smile with which he left her. He had re- 
fused to treat with her, but his enmity — if enmity it 
could be called — was no longer active. He had pro- 
claimed a truce which she knew he would not break. 

Olga was delirious that night, and privately Muriel 
was glad that she had not been able to exclude him; 
for his control over the child was wonderful. As once 
with a tenderness maternal he had soothed her, so now 
he soothed Olga, patiently, steadfastly, even with a 
certain cheeriness. It all came back to her as she 
watched him, the strength of the man, his selfless de^ 
votion. 

She could see that both doctor and nurse thought 
very seriously of the child. The former paid a late 
visit, but said very little beyond advising her to rest 
if she could in an adjacent room. Both Nick and the 
nurse seconded this, and, seeing there was nothing that 
she could do, she gave way in the matter, lying down 
as she was with but small expectation of sleep. But 
she was wearier than she knew, and the slumber into 
which she fell was deep, and would have lasted for 
some hours undisturbed. 

It was Nick who roused her, and starting up at his 
touch, she knew instantly that what they had all 
mutely feared had drawn very near. His face told her 
at a glance, for he made no effort to dissemble. 

** The nurse thinks you had better come, ” was all he 
said. 

She pushed the hair from her forehead, and turned 
without a word to obey the summons. But at the 
door something checked her, something cried aloud 
within her, bidding her pause. She stopped. Nick 


256 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


was close behind her. Swiftly, obedient to the voice 
that cried, she stretched out her hand to him. He 
gripped it fast, and she was conscious for an instant of 
a curious gladness, a willingness to leave it in his hold, 
that she had never experienced before. But at the 
door of Olga’s room he softly relinquished it, and drew 
back. 

Olga was lying propped on pillows, and breathing 
quickly. The nurse was bending over her with a glass, 
but Olga’s face was turned away. She was watching 
the door. 

As Muriel came to her, the light eyes brightened to 
quick intelligence, and the parted lips tried to speak. 
But no sound came forth, and a frown of pain suc- 
ceeded the effort. 

Muriel stooped swiftly and grasped the slender hand 
that lay clenched upon the sheet. 

There, darling! Don’t try to talk. It hurts you 
so. We are both here, Nick and I, and we understand 
all about it.” 

It was the first time she had ever voluntarily coupled 
herself with liim. It came to her instinctively to do 
it in that moment. 

But Olga had something to say, something ap- 
parently that must be said. With infinite difficulty 
she forced a husky whisper. Muriel stooped lower to 
catch it, so low that her face was almost touching the 
face upon the pillow. 

” Muriel,” came haltingly from the parched lips, 
“there ’s something — I want — to say to you — about 
Nick.” 

Muriel felt the blood surging at her temples as the 
faint words reached her. She would have given any* 
thing: to know that he was out of earshot. 


A.t tHe Gate of DeatH 


257 


Won’t you say it in the morning, darling? ’’she said, 
almost with pleading in her voice. “ It ’s so late now. 

It was not late. It was very, very early — the solemn 
hour when countless weary ones fall into their long 
sleep. And the moment she had spoken, her heart 
smote her. Was she for her own peace of mind trying 
to silence the child’s last words on earth? 

‘*No, never mind, dear,” she amended tenderly.^ 
‘*I am listening to you. Tell me now.” 

'*Yes,” panted Olga. “I must. I must. You 
remember — that day — with the daisies — the day we 
saw — the hawk?” 

Yes, well Muriel remembered it. The thought of it 
went through her like a stab 

Yes, dear. What of it ?” she heard herself say. 

'^Well, you know — I’ve thought since — that the 
daisies meant Nick, not — not — I can’t remember his 
name, Muriel.” 

“Do you mean Captain Grange, dear?” 

“Yes, yes, of course. He was there too, was n’t he? 
I ’m sure now — quite sure — they did n’t mean him. ” 

“Very likely not, dear.” 

“And Muriel — do you know — Nick was just miser- 
able — after you went. I sort of felt he was. And 
late — late that night I woke up, and I crept down to 
him — in the library. And he had his head down on 
the table — ^as if — as if— he was crying. Oh, Muriel!” 

A sharp sob interrupted the piteous whisper. 
Muriel folded her arms about the child, pillowing the 
tired head on her breast. All the fair hair had been cut 
off earlier in the day. Its absence gave Olga a very' 
babyish appearance. 

Brokenly, with many gasping pauses, the pathetic 
Kttle story came to an end. “I went to him — and I 


258 


THe Way of an Eag^le 


asked him what it was. And he — he looked up with 
that funny face he makes — you know — and he just 
said, * Oh, it ^s all right. I Ve been feeding on dust and 
ashes all day long, that ’s all. And it ’s dry fare for a 
thirsty man!' He thought — I would n't know what 
he meant. But I did, Muriel. And I always wanted 
to tell you. But — somehow — you would n't let me. 
He meant you. He was hurt — so hurt — because you 
were n't kind to him. Oh, Muriel, won’t you — won’t 
you — try to be kind to him now? Please, dear, please !’’ 

Muriel's eyes sought Nick, and instantly a thrill of 
* surprise and relief shot through her. He had not 
heard that request of Olga’s. She doubted if he had 
heard anything. He was sunk in a chair well in the 
background with his head on his hand, and looking at 
him she saw his shoulders shake with a soundless sob. 

She looked away again with a sense of trespass. 
This — this was the man who had fought and cursed 
and slain under her eyes — the man from whose violence 
she had shrunk appalled, whose strength had made her 
shudder many a time. She had never imagined that 
he could grieve thus — even for his little pal Olga. 

Tenderly she turned back to the child. That single 
glimpse of the man in pain had made it suddenly easy 
to grant her earnest prayer. 

''1 won't be unkind to him again, darling,’' she 
promised softly. 

Never any more?” insisted Olga. 

“Never any more, my darling. ” 

Olga made a little nestling movement against her. 
It was all she wanted, and now that the effort of asking 
was over she was very tired. 

The nurse drew softly back into the shadow, and a 
deep silence fell in the room. Through it in a long. 


At tKe Gate of DeatK 


^259 


monotonous roar there came the sound of the sea 
breaking, eternally breaking, along the beach. 

No one moved. Olga's breathing was growing 
slower, so much slower that there were times when 
Muriel, listening intently, fancied that it had wholly 
ceased. She held the little slim body close in her arms, 
jealously close, as though she were defying Death itself. 
And ever through the stillness she could hear her own 
heart beating like the hoofs of a galloping horse. 

Slowly the night began to pass. The outline of the 
window-frame became visible against a faint grey 
glimmer. The window was open, and a breath of the 
coming dawn wandered in with the fragrance of 
drenched roses. A soft rain was falling. The patter 
of it could be heard upon the leaves. 

Again Muriel listened for the failing breath, listened 
closely, tensely, her face bent low to the fair head that 
lay so still upon her breast. 

But she heard nothing — nothing but her own heart 
quickening, quickening, from fear to suspense, from 
suspense to the anguish of conviction. 

She lifted her face at last, and in the same instant 
there arose a sudden flood of song from the sleeping 
garden, as the first lark soared to meet the dawn. 

Half-dazed, she listened to that marvellous out- 
pouring of gladness, so wildly rapturous, so weirdly 
holy. On, ever on, pealed the bird-voice; on to the 
very Gates of Heaven, and it seemed to the girl who 
listened as though she heard a child's spirit singing up 
the steeps of Paradise. With her heart she followed it 
till suddenly she heard no more. The voice ceased as 
it had begun, ceased as a burst of music when an open 
door is closed — and there fell in its stead a silence that 
could be felt. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


THE ARMISTICE 

S HE could not have said for how long she sat motion- 
less, the slight, inert body clasped against her 
breast. Vaguely she knew that the night passed, and 
with it the wondrous silence that had lain like a bene- 
diction upon the dawn. A thousand living things 
awoke to rejoice in the crystal splendour of the morn- 
ing; but within the quiet room the spell remained 
unUfted, the silence lay untouched. It was as though 
the presence of Death had turned it into a peaceful 
sanctuary that no mere earthly tumult could disturb. 

She sat in a species of waking stupor for a long, long 
time, not daring to move lest the peace that enfolded 
her should be shattered. Higher and higher the sun 
climbed up the sky till at last it topped the cedar- trees 
and shone in upon her, throwing a single ray of purest 
gold across the foot of the bed. Fascinated, she 
watched it travel slowly upwards, till a silent, one- 
armed figure arose and softly drew the curtain. 

The room grew dim again. The world was shut out. 
She was not conscious of physical fatigue, only of a 
certain weariness of waiting, waiting for she knew not 
what. It seemed interminable, but she would not seek 
to end it. She was as a soldier waiting for the order to 
quit his post. 

There came a slight movement at last. Someone 
260 


THe Armistice 


261 


touched her, whispered to her. She looked up blankly, 
and saw the nurse. But understanding seemed to have 
gone from her during those long hours. She could not 
take in a word. There arose a great surging in her 
brain, and the woman’s face faded into an indistinct 
blur. She sat rigid, afraid to move lest she should 
fall. 

She heard vague whisperings over her head, and an 
arm that was like a steel spring encircled her. Some- 
one lifted her burden gently from her, and a faint 
murmur reached her, such as a child makes in its 
sleep. 

Then the arm that supported her gradually raised 
her up till she was on her feet. Mechanically she tried 
to walk, but was instantly overcome by a sick sense of 
powerlessness. 

''I can’t!” she gasped. ''I can’t!” 

Nick’s voice answered her in a quick, confident 
whisper. Yes, you can, dear. It ’s all right. Hang 
on to me. I won’t let you go. ” 

She obeyed him blindly. There was nothing else 
to do. And so, half-led, half-can*ied, she tottered 
from the room. 

A glare of sunlight smote upon her from a passage- 
window with a brilliance that almost hurt her. She 
stood still, clinging to Nick’s shoulder. 

''Oh, Nick,” she faltered weakly, "why don’t they 
— pull down the blinds?” 

Nick turned aside, still closely holding her, into the 
room in which she had rested for the earlier part of the 
night. 

"Because, thank God,” he said, "there is no need. 
Olga is going to live. ” 

He helped her down into an easy-chair, and would 


262 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


have left her; but she clung to him still, weakly but 
persistently. 

'‘Oh, Nick, don't laugh! Tell me the truth for 
once! Please, Nick, please!" 

He yielded to her so abruptly that she was half- 
startled, dropping suddenly down upon his knees 
beside her, the morning light full upon his face. 

"I am telling you the truth," he said. "I believe 
you have saved her life. She has been sleeping ever 
since sunrise." 

Muriel gazed at him speechlessly; but she no longer 
suspected him of trying to deceive her. If he had 
never told her the truth before that moment he was 
telling it to her then. 

She gave a little gasping cry of relief unspeakable, 
and hid her face. The next moment Nick was on his 
feet. She heard his quick, light step as he crossed the 
threshold, and realised thankfully that he had left her 
alone. 

A little later, a servant brought her a breakfast-tray 
with a message from the master of the house to the 
effect that he hoped she would go to bed and take a 
long rest. 

It was excellent advice, and she acted upon it; for 
since the worst strain was over, sleep had become an 
urgent necessity to her. She wondered as she lay 
down if Nick were following the same course. She 
hoped he was, for she had a curiously vivid memory of 
the lines that sleeplessness had drawn about his eyes. 

It was late afternoon when she awoke, and sat 
swiftly up with a confused sense of being watched. 

"Don’t jump like that!" a gruff voice said. "Lie 
down again at once. You are not to get up till to- 
morrow morning." 


THe Armistice 


263 


She turned with a shaky laugh of welcome to find 
Dr. Jim seated frowning by her side. He laid a com- 
pelling hand upon her shoulder. 

*'Lie down again, do you hear? There ’s nothing 
for you to do. Olga is much better, and does n't want 
you." 

^^And Nick?" said Muriel. 

They were the first words that occurred to her. 
She said them hurriedly, with heightened colour. 

Jim Ratcliffe frowned more than ever. He was feel- 
ing her pulse. '‘A nice couple of idiots you are!" he 
grimly remarked. ''You need n’t worry about Nick. 
He has gone for a ride. As soon as he comes back, be 
will dine and go to bed." 

"Can’t I get up to dinner?" Muriel suggested. 

She could scarcely have said why she made the pro- 
posal, and she was certainly surprised when Jim Rat- 
cliffe fell in with it. He looked at his watch. "Well, 
you may if you like. You will probably sleep the bet- 
ter for it. But I ’ll have no nonsense, mind, Muriel. 
You 're to do as you ’re “told. " 

Muriel smiled acquiescence. She felt that every- 
thing was right now that Dr. Jim had returned to take 
the direction of affairs into his own hands. He had 
come back aloxie, and he intended to finish his holiday 
under Nick's roof. So much he told her before, with 
an abrupt smile, he thanked her for her care of his 
little girl and took himself off. 

She almost regretted her decision when she came to 
get up, for the strain was telling upon her more than 
she had realised. Not since Simla days had she felt 
BO utterly worn out. She was glad of the cup of tea 
which Dr. Jim sent in to her before she left her room. 

Sitting on the cushioned window-seat to drink it, she 


264 THe Way of an Ea^le 

beard the tread of a horse’s feet along the drive, and 
with a start she saw Nick come into view round a bend. 

Her first impulse was to draw back out of sight, but 
the next moment she cnanged her mind and remained 
motionless. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. 

He was riding very carelessly, the bridle lying on 
the horse’s neck. The evening sun was shining full 
in his face, but he did not seem to mind. His head 
was thrown back. He rode like a returning conqueror, 
wearied it might be, but triumphant. 

Passing into the shadow of the house, he saw her 
instantly, and the smile that flashed into his face was 
one of sheer exultation. He dropped the bridle alto- 
gether to wave to her. 

''Up already? Have you seen old Jim?” 

She nodded. It was impossible at the moment not 
to reflect his smile. "I am coming down soon,” she 
told him. 

"Come now,” said Nick persuasively. 

She hesitated. He was slipping from his horse. A 
groom came up and took the animal from him. 

Nick paused below her window, and once more 
lifted his grinning, confident face. 

"I say, Muriel!” 

She leaned down a little. "Well?” 
i " Don’t come if you don’t want to, you know. ” 

She laughed half-reluctantly, conscious of a queer 
desire to please him. Olga’s words were rimning in her 
brain. He had fed on dust and ashes. 

Yet still she hesitated. "Will you wait for me?” 

"Till doomsday,” said Nick obligingly. 

And drawn by a power that would not be withstood, 
she went down, still smiling, and joined him in the 
garden. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE EAGLE STRIKES 

O LGA’S recovery, when the crisis of the disease was 
past, was more rapid than even her father had 
anticipated; and this fact, combined with a spell of 
glorious summer weather, made the period of her 
quarantine very tedious, particularly as Nick was 
rigidly excluded from the sick-room. 

At Olga’s earnest request Muriel consented to re- 
main at Redlands. Daisy had written to postpone her 
own return to the cottage, having received two or 
three invitations which she wished to accept if Muriel 
could still spare her. 

Blake was in Scotland. His letters were not very 
frequent, and though his leave was nearly up, he did 
not speak of returning. 

Muriel was thus thrown upon Jim Ratcliffe’s care — 
a state of affairs which seemed to please him mightily. 
It was in fact his presence that made life easy for 
her just then. She saw considerably more of him than 
of Nick, the latter having completely relegated the 
duties of host to his brother. Though they met every 
day, they were seldom alone together, and she began 
to have a feeling that Nick’s attitude towards her had 
undergone a change. His manner was now always 
friendly, but never intimate. He did not seek her 
society, but neither did he avoid her. And never by 
265 


266 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


word or gesture did he refer to anything that had been 
between them in the past. She even wondered some- 
times if there might not possibly have been another 
interpretation to Olga’s story. That unwonted de- 
pression of his that the child had witnessed had stirely 
never been inspired by her. 

She found the time pass quickly enough during 
those six weeks. The care of Olga occupied her very 
fully. She was always busy devising some new 
scheme for her amusement. 

Mrs. Ratcliffe returned to Weir^ and Dr. Jim de- 
termined to transfer Olga to her home as soon as she 
was out of quarantine. With paternal kindliness, he 
insisted that Muriel must accompany her. Daisy’s 
return was still uncertain, though it could not be long 
delayed ; and Muriel had no urgent desire to return to 
the lonely life on the shore. 

So, to Olga’s outspoken delight, she yielded to the 
doctor’s persuasion, and on the afternoon preceding the 
child’s emancipation from her long imprisonment she 
walked down to the cottage to pack her things. 

It was a golden day in the middle of September and 
she lingered awhile on the shore when her work was 
done. There was not a wave in all the vast, shimmer- 
ing sea. The tide was going out, and the shallow 
ripples were clear as glass as they ran out along the 
white beach. Muriel paused often in her walk. She 
was sorry to leave the little fishing-village, realising 
that she had been very happy there. Life had passed 
as smoothly as a dream of late, so smoothly that she 
had been content to live in the present with scarcely 
a thought for the future. 

This afternoon she had begun to realise that her 
peaceful time was drawing to an end. In a few weeks 


THe £a^le StriKes 


267 


more, she would be in town in all the bustle of prepara- 
tion. And further still ahead of her — possibly two 
months — there loomed the prospect of her return to 
India, of Lady Bassett's soft patronage, of her 
marriage. 

She shivered a little as one after another these coming 
events presented themselves. There was not one of 
them that she would not have postponed with relief. 
She stood still with her face to the sunlit sea, and told 
herself that her summer in England had been all too 
short. She had an almost passionate longing for just 
one more year of home. 

A pebble skimming past her and leaping from ripple 
to ripple like a living thing caught her attention. She 
turned sharply, and the next moment smiled a welcome. 

Nick had come up behind her unperceived. She 
greeted him with pleasure unfeigned. She was tired of 
her own morbid thoughts just then. Whatever he 
might be, he was at least never depressing. 

'm saying good-bye,” she told him. don’t 
suppose I shall ever come here again.” 

He came and stood beside her while he grubbed in 
the sand with a stick. 

'‘Not even to see me?” he suggested. 

"Are you going to live here?” she asked in surprise. 

"Oh, I suppose so,” said Nick, “when I marry.” 

"Are you going to be married?” Almost in spite 
of her the question leapt out. 

He looked up, grinning shrewdly. "I put it to 
you,” he said. "Am I the sort of man to live 
alone?” 

She experienced a curious sense of relief. "But 
you are not alone in the world,” she pointed out. 
"You have relations.” 


268 


TKe Way of an Eagle 


‘‘You regard marriage as a last resotirce?’* ques- 
tioned Nick. 

She coloured and turned her face to the shore. 
don’t think any man ought to marry unless — tmless — 
he cares, ” she said, striving hard to keep the personal 
note out of her voice. 

Exactly, ” said Nick, moving beside her. ‘‘But 
does n’t that remark apply to women as well?” 

She did not answer him A discussion on this topic 
was the last thing she desired. 

He did not press the point, and she wondered a little 
at his forbearance. She glanced at him once or twice 
as they walked, but his humorous, yellow face told her 
nothing. 

Reaching some rocks, he suddenly stopped. “I ’ve 
got to get some seaweed for Olga. Do you mind wait- 
ing?” 

“I will help you,” she answered. 

He shook his head. ‘'No, you are tired. Just sit 
down in the sun. I won’t be long. ” 

She seated herself without protest, and he turned to 
leave her. A few paces from her he paused, and she 
saw that he was trying to light a cigarette. He failed 
twice, and impulsively she sprang up. 

“Nick, why don’t you ask me to help you?” 

He whizzed round. “Perhaps I don’t want you 
to,” he said quizzically. 

She took the match-box from him. “Don’t be 
absurd! Why shouldn’t I?” She struck a match 
and held it out to him. But he did not take it from 
her. He took her wrist instead, and stooping forward 
lighted his cigarette deliberately. 

She did not look at him. Some instinct warned her 
that his eyes were intently searching her face. She 


TKe Ea^le StriKea 269 

seemed to feel them darting over her in piercing, im- 
penetrable scrutiny. 

He released her slowly at length and stood up. “Am 
I to have the pleasure of dancing at your wedding?” 
he asked her suddenly. 

She looked up then very sharply, and against her 
will a burning blush rose up to her temples. He 
waited for her answer, and at last it came. 

“If you think it worth your while.” 

“I would come from the other side of the world to 
see you made happy,” said Nick. 

She turned her face aside. “You are very kind. ” 

“Think so?” There was a note of banter in his 
voice. “It ’s the first time you ever accused me of 
that. ” 

She made no rejoinder. She had a feeling at the 
throat that prevented speech, even had she had any 
words to utter. Certainly, as he had discovered, she 
was very tired. It was physical weariness, no doubt, 
but she had an almost overmastering desire to shed 
childish tears. 

“You trot back now,” said Nick cheerily. “I can 
grub along quite well by myself. ” 

She turned back silently. Why was it that the 
world seemed so grey and cold on that golden summer 
afternoon? She sat down again in the sunshine, and 
began to trace an aimless design in the sand with the 
stick Nick had left behind. Away in the distance she 
heard his cracked voice humming. Was he really as 
cheerful as he seemed, she wondered? Or was he 
merely making the best of things? 

Again her thoughts went back to Olga’s pathetic 
little revelation. Strange that she who knew him so 
intimately should never have seen him in such a mood! 


270 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


But did she know him after all? It was a question she 
had asked herself many times of late. She remem- 
bered how he had lightly told her that he had a reverse 
side. But had she ever really seen it, save for those 
brief glimpses by Olga’s bedside, and as it was reflected 
in the child’s whole-souled devotion to him? She 
wished with all her heart that he would lift the veil just 
once for her and show her his inner soul. 

Again her thoughts passed to her approaching 
marriage. She had received a letter from Blake that 
day, telling her at length of his plans. He and Daisy 
had been staying in the same house, but he was just 
returning to town. He was to sail in less than a fort- 
night, and would come and say good-bye to her im- 
mediately before his departure. The letter had been 
courteously kind throughout, but she had not felt 
tempted to read it again. It contained no reference to 
their wedding, save such as she chose to attribute to 
the concluding sentence : We can talk everything over 
when we meet. ” A sense of chill struck her when she 
recalled the words. He was very kind, of course, and 
invariably meant well; but she had begun to realise 
of late that there were times when she found him a 
little heavy and unresponsive. Not that she had ever 
desired any demonstration of tenderness from him, 
heaven knew. But the very consciousness that she 
had not desired this added to the chill. She was not 
quite sure that she wanted to see him again before he 
sailed. Certainly he had never bored her; but it was 
not inconceivable that he might do so. She shivered 
ev so slightly. It was not an exciting prospect — ^life 
with Blake. He was quite sure to be kind to her. He 
would consider her in every way. But was that after 
all quite all she wanted? A great sigh welled suddenly 


THe Ea^le StriKes 


up from the bottom of her heart. Life was ineffably 
dreary — when it was not revoltingly horrible. 

Shall I tell you what is the matter?’* said Nick. 

She started violently, and found him leaning across 
the flat rock on which she was seated. His eyes were 
remarkably bright. She had a feeling that he sup- 
pressed a laugh as his look flickered over her. 

'‘Sorry I made you jump/’ he said. “You ought 
to be used to me by this time. Anyhow you need n’t 
be frightened. My venom was extracted long ago.” 

She turned to him with sudden, unconsidered im- 
pulse. “Oh, Nick,” she said, “I sometimes think to 
myself I Ve been a great fool. ” 

He nodded. Her vehemence did not seem to sur- 
prise him. “I thought it would strike you sooner or 
later,” he said. 

She laughed in spite of herself with her eyes full of 
tears. “There ’s not much comfort in that. ” 

“I haven’t any comfort to give you,” said Nick, 
“not at this stage. I ’ll give you advice if you like — 
which I know you won’t take. ” 

“No, please don’t! That would be even worse.” 
There was a tremor in her voice. She knew that she 
had stepped off the beaten track ; but she had an in- 
tense, an almost passionate longing to go a little 
further, to penetrate, if only for a moment, that per- 
petual mask. 

“Don’t let us talk of my affairs,” she said. “Tell 
me of your own. W'^-at are you going to do? ” 

Nick’s eyebrow^ went up. “I thought I was com- 
ing to your wedding,” he remarked. “That’s as 
far as I ’ve got at present.” 

She made a gesture of impatience. “ Do you never 
think of the future?” 


272 


XHe "Way of an Ca^le 


“Not in your presence/' laughed Nick. “I think 
of you — you — and only you. Did n’t you know?* ’ 

She turned away in silence. Was he tormenting 
her deliberately? Or did he fail to see that she was in 
earnest? 

There followed a pause, and then, urged by that un- 
known impulse that would not be repressed, she did a 
curious thing. She got up, and, facing him, she made 
a very earnest appeal. 

“ Nick, why do you always treat me like this? Why 
will you never be honest with me?” 

There was more of pain than reproach in the words. 
Her voice was deep and very sad. 

But Nick scarcely looked at her. He was pulling 
tufts of dried seaweed off the rock on which he leaned. 

“My dear girl,” he said, “how can you expect 
it?” 

“Expect it!” she echoed. “I don’t understand. 
What do you mean?” 

He drew himself slowly to a sitting posture. “ How 
can I be honest with you,” he said, “ when you are not 
honest with yourself?” 

“What do you mean?” she said again. 

He gave her an odd look. “You really want me to 
tell you?” 

“Of course I do.” She spoke sharply. The old 
scared feeling was awake within her, but she would not 
yield to it. Now or never wotdd she read the enigina. 
She would know the truth, cr^t w^at it might. 

'What I mean is this,” su^a Mjk. “You won’t 
own it, of course, but you are cheating, and you arc 
afraid to stop. There is n’t one woman in ten thou- 
sand who has the pluck to thr -w down the cards when 
once she has begun to cheat. She goes on — as you 


THe £a^le StriKes 


^73 


will go on — to the end of her life, simply because she 
dare n’t do otherwise. You are out of the straight, 
Muriel. That ’s why everything is such a hideous fail- 
ure. You are going to marry the wrong man, and you 
know it. ” 

He looked up at her again for an instant as he said it. 
He had spoken with his usual shrewd decision, but there 
was no hint of excitement about him. He might have 
been discussing some matter of a purely impersonal 
nature. 

Muriel stood mutely poking holes in the sand. She 
could find nothing to say to this matter-of-fact indict- 
ment. 

‘‘And now,” Nick proceeded, “I will tell you why 
you are doing it. ” 

She started at that, and looked up with flaming 
cheeks. “ I don’t think I want to hear any more, Nick. 
It — ^it ’s rather late in the day, is n’t it ? ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ I knew you would be 
afraid to face it. It ’s easier, is n’t it, to go on 
cheating?” 

Her eyes gleamed for a moment. He had flicked a 
tender place. “Very well, ” she said proudly. “ Say 
what you like. It will make no difference. But 
please imderstand that I admit none of this.” 

Nick’s grin leapt goblin-like across his face and was 
gone. “ I never expected it of you, ” he told her coolly. 
“You would sooner die than admit it, simply because 
it would be infinitely easier for you to die. Y ou will be 
false to yourself, false to Grange, false to me, rather 
than lower that miserable little rag of pride that made 
you jilt me at Simla. I did n’t blame you so much 
then. You were only a child. You did n’t under- 
stand. But that excuse won’t serve you now. You 

i8 


274 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


are a woman, and you know what Love is. You don’t 
call it by its name, but none the less you know it. ” 

He paused for an instant, for Muriel had made a 
swift gesture of protest. 

'' I don’t think you know what you are saying, ” she 
said, her voice very low. 

He sprang abruptly to his feet. *^Yes, ” he said, 
speaking very rapidly. ''That ’s how you will trick 
yourself to your dying day. It ’s a way women have. 
But it does n’t help them. It won’t help you. For 
that thing in your heart — the thing that is fighting for 
air — the thing you won’t own — the thing that drove 
you to Grange for protection — will never die. That is 
why you are miserable. You may do what you will 
to it, hide it, smother it, trample it. But it will sur- 
vive for all that. All your life it will be there. You 
will never forget it though you will try to persuade 
yourself that it belongs to a dead past. All your life, ” 
— his voice vibrated suddenly, and the ever-shifting 
eyes blazed into leaping flame — "all your life, you will 
remember that I was once yours to take or to throw 
away. And — you wanted me, yet — you chose to 
throw me away. ’’ 

Fiercely he flimg the words at her. There was 
nothing impersonal about him now. He was vitally, 
overwhelmingly, in earnest. A deep glow covered the 
parchment face. The man was as it were electrified 
by passion. 

And Muriel gazed at him as one gazing upon sudden 
disaster. What was this, what was this, that he had 
said to her? He had rent the veil aside for her indeed. 
But to what dread vision had he opened her eyes? 

The old paralysing fear was knocking at her heart. 
She dreaded each instant to see the devil leap out upon 


THe Ee^le StriKes 


275 


his face. But as the seconds passed she realised that 
he was still his own master. He had flung down the 
gauntlet, but he would go no further, unless she 
took it up. And this she could not do. She knew 
that she was no match for him. 

He was watching her narrowly, she knew, and after 
a few palpitating moments she nerved herself to meet 
his look. She felt as if it scorched her, but she would 
not shrink. Not for a moment must he fancy that 
those monstrous words of his had pierced her quivering 
heart. Whatever happened later, when this stunned 
sense of shock had left her, she must not seem to take 
them seriously now, with his watching eyes upon 
her. 

And so at last she lifted her head and faced him with 
a little quivering laugh, brave enough in itself, but how 
piteous she never guessed. 

don't think you are quite so clever as you used to 
be, Nick," she told him, '‘though I admit," — her lips 
trembled — "that you are very amusing sometimes. 
Blake once told me that you had the eyes of a 
snake-charmer. Is it true, I wonder? Anyhow, they 
don't charm me." 

She stopped rather breathlessly, half-frightened 
by his stillness. Would he understand that it was not 
her intention to defy him — that she was only refusing 
the conflict? 

For a few moments her heart beat tumultuously, 
and then came a great throb of relief. Yes, he under- 
stood. She had nought to fear. 

He put his hand sharply over his eyes, turning from 
her. "I have never tried to charm you, " he said, in a 
voice that sounded curiously choked and imfamiliar. 
have only — cloved you." 


276 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


In the silence that followed, he began to walk away 
from her, moving noiselessly over the sand. 

Mutely she watched him, but she dared not call him 
back. And very soon she was quite alone. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE PENALTY FOR SENTIMENT 

I T did not take Dr. Jim long to discover that some 
trouble or at the least some perplexity was weigh- 
ing upon his young guest’s mind. He also shrewdly re- 
marked that it dated from the commencement of her 
visit at his house. No one else noticed it, but this 
was not surprising. There was always plenty to oc- 
cupy the attention in the Ratcliffe household, and only 
Dr. Jim managed to keep a sharp eye upon every mem- 
ber thereof. Moreover, by a casual observer, there 
was little or nothing that was unusual to be detected 
in Muriel’s manner. Quiet she certainly was, but she 
was by no means listless. Her laugh did not always 
ring quite true, that was all. And her eyes drooped a 
little wearily from time to time. There were other 
symptoms, very slight, wholly imperceptible to any 
but a trained eye, yet not one of which escaped Dr. 
Jim. 

He made no comment, but throughout that first 
week of her stay he watched her unperceived, biding 
his time. During several motor rides on which she 
accompanied him he maintained this attitude while 
she sat all unsuspecting by his side. She had never 
detected any subtlety in this staunch friend of hers, 
and, unlike Daisy, she felt no fear of him. His blunt 
sincerity had never managed to wound her. 

277 


27 ^ 


THe Way of an Ha^Ie 


And so it was almost inevitable that she should give 
him his opportunity at last. 

Late one evening she entered his consulting-room 
where he was busy writing. 

want to talk to you/’ she said. *‘Is it very 
inconvenient?” 

The doctor leaned back in his chair. ‘*Sit down 
there,” he said, pointing to one immediately facing 
him. 

She laughed and obeyed, faintly blushing. “I 'm 
not a patient, you know. ” 

He drew his black brows together. ^Ht ’s very late. 
Why don’t you go to bed?” 

^‘Because I want to talk to you.” 

You can do that to-morrow,” bluntly rejoined Dr. 
Jim. ‘'You can’t afford to sacrifice your sleep to 
chatter. ” 

“I am not sacrificing any sleep,” Muriel told him 
rather wearily. “I never sleep before morning. ” 

He laid down his pen and gave her one of his hard 
looks. “Then you are a very silly girl, ” he said curtly 
at length. 

“It is n’t my fault, ” she protested. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “You all say that. It ’s 
the most ordinary lie I know. ” 

Muriel smiled. “I know you are longing to give 
me something nasty. You may if you like. I ’ll 
take it, whatever it is. ” 

Dr. Jim was silent for a space. He continued to 
regard her steadily, with a scrutiny that spared her 
nothing. She sat quite still under it. He had never 
disconcerted her yet. But when he leaned suddenly 
forward and took her wrist between his fingers, she 
made a slight, instinctive effort to frustrate him„ 


THe Penalty for Sentiment 279 

'‘Be still,” he ordered. ‘‘What makes you so 
absurdly nervous? Want of sleep, eh? ” 

Her lips trembled a little. “ Don’t probe too deep, 
doctor,” she pleaded. “I am not very happy just 
now. ” 

‘‘Why don’t you tell me what is the matter?” he 
asked grufhy. 

She did not answer, and he continued frowning 
over her pulse. 

“What do you want to talk to me about?” he 
asked at last. 

She looked up with an effort. “Oh, nothing 
much. Only a letter from a Mrs. Langdale who 
lives in town. She is going to India in Novemoer, 
and says she will take charge of me if I care to go 
with her. She has invited me to go and stay with 
her beforehand. ” 

“Well?” said Jim, as she oaused. 

“I don’t want to go,” she said. “Do you think I 
ought? She is Lady Bassett’s sister.” 

“I think it would p^'obably do you good, if that ’s 
what you mean, ” he returned. “But I don’t suppose 
that consideration has much weight with you. Why 
don’t you want to go?” 

“I don’t like strangers, and I hate Lady Bassett,” 
Muriel answered, with absolute siiiplicity. “Then 
there is Daisy. I don’t know what her plans are. I 
always thought we should go East together. ” 

“There ’s no sense in waiting for Daisy’s plans to 
develop, ” declared Jim. ‘'She is as changeable as the 
wind. Possibly Nick will be able to make up her 
mind for her. I fancy he means to try. ” 

“Nick! You don’t mean he vill travel with 
Daisy?” There was almost a tragic note in Muriel’s 


7So THe "Way of an Ela^le 

voice. She looked up quickly into the shrewd eyes 
that watched her. 

Why should n't he?" said Jim. 

"I don’t know. I never thought of it." Muriel 
leaned back again, a faint frown of perplexity between 
her eyes. ‘‘Perhaps,’’ she said slowly at length, “I 
had better go to Mrs. Langdale.’’ 

“I should in your place,’’ said Jim. “That hand- 
some soldier of yours won’t want to be kept waiting, 
eh?’’ 

“Oh, he wouldn’t mind." The weariness was 
apparent again in her voice, and with it a tinge of 
bitterness. “He never minds anything," she said. 

Jim grunted disapproval. “And you? Are you 
equally indifferent?" 

Her pale face flushed vividly. She was silent a 
moment; then suddeixiy she sat up and met his look 
fully. 

“You *11 think me contemptible, I know," she said, 
a great quiver Lx her voice. “I can’t help it; you 
mtist. Dr. Jim, I ’ll tell you the truth. I — I don’t 
want to go to India. I don’t want to be married — 
at all." 

She ended with a swift rush of irrepressible tears. 
It was out at las^, this trouble of hers that had been 
gradually growirg behind the barrier of her reserve, 
and it seemed to burst ov er her in the telling in a great 
wave of adversity. 

“I’ve done nothing but make mistakes," she 
sobbed “ever since Daddy died." 

Dr. Jim got up quietly to lock the door. The 
grimness had passed from his face. 

“My dear," he said gruffly, “we all of us make 
mistakes directly we begin to run alone. " 


THe Penalty for Sentiment 281 


He returned and sat down again close to her, waiting 
for her to recover herself. She slipped out a trembling 
hand to him, and he took it very kindly ; but he said no 
more until she spoke. 

‘*It ’s very difficult to know what to do.’’ 

‘^Is it? I should have said you were past that 
stage. ” His tone was uncompromising, but the warm 
grip of his hand made up for it. His directness did not 
dismay her. If you are quite sure you don’t care for 
the fellow, your duty is quite plain. ” 

Muriel raised her head slowly. '‘Yes, but it is n’t 
quite so simple as that, doctor. You see, it ’s not as if 
— as if — we either of us ever imagined we were — ^in love 
with each other. ” 

Jim’s eyebrows went up. “As bad as that?” 

She leaned her chin on her hand. “I am sure there 
must be crowds of people who marry without ever 
being in love.” 

“Yes,” said Jim curtly. “And kindle their own 
hell in doing it. ” 

She started a little. “You think that?” 

“I know it. I have seen it over and over again. 
Full half of the world’s misery is due to it. But you 
won’t do that, Muriel. I know you too well. ” 

Muriel glanced up at him. “Do you know me? 
I don’t think you would have expected me to accept 
him in the first place. ” 

“ Depends what you did it for, ” said Jim. 

She fell suddenly silent, slowly twisting the ring on 
her finger. “ He knew why, ” she said at last in a very 
low voice. “In fact — ^in fact he asked me for that 
reason. ” 

“And the reason still exists?” 

She bent her head. “Yes. ” 


282 


THe Way of an £.a^le 


A reason you are ashamed of ? pursued the doctor. 

She did not answer, and he drew his great brows 
together in deep thought. 

‘'You don’t propose to take me any further into 
your confidence? ” he asked at last. 

She made a quick, impulsive movement, “You — 
you — I think you know. ” 

“Will you let me tell you what I know?” he said. 

She shrank perceptibly. “If — if you won’t make 
it too hard for me. ” 

“I can’t answer for that,” he returned. “It de- 
pends entirely upon yourself. My knowledge does not 
amount to anything very staggering in itself. It is 
only this — that I know a certain person who would 
cheerfully sacrifice all he has to make you happ;/, and 
that you have no more cause to fear persecution from 
that person than from the man in the moon. ” 

He paused ; but Muriel did not speak. She was still 
absently turning her engagement ring round and round. 

“To verify this, ” he said, “I will tell you something 
which I am sure you don’t know — v/hich in fact puz- 
zled me, too, considerably, for some time. He has al- 
ready sacrificed more than most men would care to 
venture in a doubtful cause. It was no part of his 
plan to follow you to England. He set his face against 
it so strongly that he very nearly ended his mortal 
career for good and all in so doing. As it was, he 
suffered for his lunacy pretty heavily. You know 
what happened. He was forced to come in the end, 
and he paid the forfeit for his delay. ” 

Again he paused, for Muriel had sprung upright with 
such tragedy in her eyes that he knew he had said 
enough. The next moment she was on her feet, 
quivering all over as one grievously wounded. 


XHe Penalty for Sentiment 28^ 

“Oh, do you know what you are saying?’’ she said, 
and in her voice there throbbed the cry of a woman’s 
wrung heart. “ Surely — surely he never did that — for 
me!” 

He did not seem to notice her agitation. “It was 
a fairly big price to pay for a piece of foolish sentiment, 
eh? ” he said. “Let us hope he will know better next 
time.” 

He looked up at her with a faintly cynical smile, but 
she was standing with her face averted. He saw only 
that her chin was quivering like a hurt child’s. 

“ Come, ” he said at length. “ I did n’t tell you this 
to distress you, you know. Only to set your mind at 
rest, so that you might sleep easy.” 

She mastered herself with an effort, and turned to- 
wards him. “I know; yes, I know. You — you have 
been very kind. Good-night, doctor. ” 

He rose and went with her to the door. “You are 
not going to lie awake over this?” 

She shook her head. “Good-night, ’ she said again. 

He watched her down the passage, and then re- 
turned to his writing. He smiled to himself as he sat 
down, but this time wholly without cynicism. 

“No, Nick, my boy,” he said, as he drove his pen 
into the ink. “She won’t lie awake for you. But 
she ’ll cry herself to sleep for your sake, you gibbering, 
one-armed ape. And the new love will be the old 
love before the week is out, or I am no weather 
prophet. ” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


THE WATCHER OF THE CLIFF 

HE gale that raged along the British coasts that 



autumn was the wildest that had been known 


for years. It swelled quite suddenly out of the last 
breezes of a superb summer, and by the middle of Sep- 
tember it had become a monster of destruction, devas- 
tating the shore. The crumbling cliffs of Brethaven 
testified to its violence. Beating rain and colossal, 
shattering waves united to accomplish ruin and 
destruction. And the little fishing-village looked on 
aghast. 

It was on the third day of the storm that news was 
brought to Nick of a landslip on his own estate. He 
had been in town ever since his guests’ departure, and 
had only returned on the previous evening. He did 
not contemplate a long stay. The place was lonely 
without Olga, and he was not yet sufficiently proficient 
in shooting with one arm to enjoy the sport, especially 
in solitude. He was in fact simply waiting for an op- 
portunity which he was convinced must occur before 
long, of keeping a certain promise made to a friend of 
his on a night of early summer in the Indian Plains. 

It was a wild day of drifting squalls and transient 
gleams of sunshine. He grimaced to himself as he 
sauntered forth after luncheon to view the damage 
that had been wrought upon his property. The 


284 


The Watcher of the Cliff 285 


ground he trod was sodden with long rain, and the 
cedars beyond the lawn plunged heavily to and fro 
in melancholy unrest, flinging great drops upon him as 
he passed. The force of the gale was terrific, and he 
had to bend himself nearly double to meet it. 

With difficulty he forced his way to the little sum- 
mer-house that overlooked the shore. He marvelled 
somewhat to find it still standing, but it v/as sturdily 
built and would probably endure as long as the ground 
beneath it remained unshaken. 

But beyond it a great gap yawned. The daisy- 
covered space on which they had sat that afternoon ^ 
now many weeks ago, had disappeared. Nothing of it 
remained but a crumbling desolation to which the 
daisies still clung here and there. 

Nick stood in such shelter as the summer-house 
afforded, and looked forth upon the heaving waste of 
waters. The tide was rising. He could see the great 
waves swirling white around the rocks. Several land- 
slips were visible from this post of observation. The 
village was out of sight, tucked away behind a great 
shoulder of cliff; but an old ruined cottage that had 
been uninhabited for some time had entirely disap- 
peared. Stacks of seaweed had been thrown up upon 
the deserted shore, and lay in great masses above the 
breakers. The roar of the incoming tide was like the 
continuous roll of thunder. 

It was a splendid spectacle and for some time he 
stood, with his face to the driving wind, gazing out 
upon the empty sea. There was not a single vessel in 
all that wide expanse. 

Slowly at last his vision narrowed. His eyes came 
down to the great gash at his feet where red earth and 
tufts of grass mingled, where the daisies had grown on 


286 


THe Way of an ]Ca^le 


that June day, where she had sat, proud and aloof, and 
watched him fooling with the white petals. Very 
vividly he recalled that summer afternoon, her scorn 
of him, her bitter hostility — and the horror he had sur- 
prised in her dark eyes when the hawk had struck. 
He laughed oddly to himself, his teeth clenched upon 
his lower lip. How furiously she had hated him that 
day! 

He turned to go; but paused, arrested by some 
instinct that bade him cast one more look downwards 
along the howling shore. In another moment he was 
lying full length upon the rotten ground, staring in- 
tently down upon the group of rocks more than two 
hundred feet below him. 

Two figures — a man and a woman — had detached 
themselves from the shelter of these rocks, and were 
moving slowly, very slowly, towards the path that led 
inwards from the shore. They were closely linked to- 
gether, so much his first glance told him. But there 
was something in the man’s gait that caught the eye. 
and upon which Nick’s whole attention was instantly 
focussed. He could not see the face, but the loose- 
slung, gigantic limbs were familiar to him. With all 
his knowledge of the world of men, he had not seen 
many such. 

Slowly the two approached till they stood almost 
immediately beneath him, and there, as upon mutual 
impulse, they stopped. It was a comer protected from 
the driving blast by the crumbling mass of cliff that 
had slipped in the night. The rain was falling heavily 
again, but neither the two on the shore nor the solitary 
watcher stretched on the perilous edge of the cliff 
seemed aware of it. All were intent upon other 
things. 


The ‘Watcher of the Cliff 287 


Suddenly the woman raised her face, and with a 
movement that was passionate reached up her arms 
and clasped them about the man’s bent neck. She was 
speaking, but no sound or echo of words was audible in 
that tumult. Only her face lifted to the beating rain, 
with its passion of love, its anguish of pain, told the 
motionless spectator something of their significance. 

It was hidden from him almost at once by the man’s 
massive head; but he had seen enough, more than 
enough, to verify a certain suspicion which had long 
been quartered at the back of his brain. 

Stealthily he drew himself back from the cliff edge, 
and sat up on the damp grass. Again his eyes swept 
the horizon; there was something of a glare in them. 
He was drenched through and through by the rain, but 
he did not know it. Had Muriel seen him at that 
moment she might have likened him with a shudder 
to an eagle that viewed its quarry from afar. 

He returned to the house without further lingering, 
and spent the two hours that followed in prowling 
ceaselessly up and down his library. 

At the end of that time he sat down suddenly at the 
writing-table, and scrawled a hasty note. His face, as 
he did so, was like the face of an old man, but without 
the tolerance of age. 

Finishing, he rang for his servant. ^^Take this 
note,” he said, ‘^and ask at the Brethaven Arms if a 
gentleman named Captain Grange is putting up there. 
If he is, send in the note, and wait for an answer. If 
he is not, bring it back. ” 

The man departed, and Nick resumed his prowling. 
It seemed that he could not rest. Once he went to the 
window and opened it to listen to the long roar of the 
sea, but the fury of the blast was such that he could 


288 


THe Way of an £.a^le 


scarcely stand against it. He shut it out, and 
resumed his tramp. 

The return of his messenger brought him to a stand- 
still. 

“Captain Grange was there, sir. Here is his 
answer. ” 

Nick grabbed the note with a gesture that might 
have indicated either impatience or relief. He held 
the envelope between his teeth to slit it open, and they 
left a deep mark upon it. 

“Dear Ratcliffe,” he read. “If I can get to you 
through this murderous storm, I will. Expect me at 
eight o’clock. — Yours, B. Grange. ” 

' ^ All right, ’ ’ said Nick over his shoulder. “ Captain 
Grange will dine with me.” 

With the words he dropped the note into the fire, 
and then went away to dress. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


BY SINGLE COMBAT 

B y eight o’clock Nick was lounging in the hall, 
awaiting his guest, but it was more than a 
quarter of an hour later that the latter presented 
himself. 

Nick himself admitted him with a cheery grin. 
‘‘Come in,” he said. “You Ve had a pretty filthy 
walk.” 

“ Infernal, ” said Grange gloomily. 

He entered with a heavy, rather bullied air, as if he 
had come against his will. Shaking hands with his 
host, he glanced at him somewhat suspiciously. 

“Glad you managed to come,” said Nick hospitably. 
“ What did you want to see me for? ” asked Grange. 
“The pleasure of your society, of course.” Nick’s 
benignity was unassailable, but there was a sharp 
edge to it somewhere of which Grange was uneasily 
aware. “Come along and dine. We can talk after- 
wards.” 

Grange accompanied him moodily to the dining- 
room. “I thought you were away,” he remarked, as 
they sat down. 

“I was,” said Nick. “Came back last night. 
When do you sail?” 

“On Friday. I came down to say good-bye.” 
“Muriel is at Weir,” observed Nick. 

19 28 q 


290 


THe ’Wety of an liable 


'^Yes. I shall go on there to-morrow. Daisy is 
only here for a night or two to pack up her things.’* 

''And then?” said Nick. 

Grange stiffened perceptibly. "I don’t know what 
her plans are. She never makes up her mind till the 
last minute. ” 

Nick laughed. "She evidently has n’t taken you 
into her confidence. She is going East this winter. ” 

Grange looked up sharply. "I don’t believe it.” 

"It ’s true all the same,” said Nick indifferently, 
and forthwith forsook the subject. 

He started other topics, racing, polo, politics, 
airily ignoring his guest’s undeniable surliness, till at 
last Grange’s uneasiness began to wear away. He 
gradually overcame his depression, and had even man- 
aged to capture some of his customary courtesy be- 
fore the end of dinner. His attitude was quite friendly 
when they finally adjourned to the library to smoke. 

Nick followed him into the room and stopped to 
shut the door. 

Grange had gone straight to the fire, and he did not 
see him slip something into his pocket as he came 
forward. 

But he did after several minutes of abstraction dis- 
cover something not quite normal in Nick’s silence, 
and glanced down at him to ascertain what it was. 

Nick had flung himself into a deep easy-chair, and 
was lying quite motionless with his head back upon 
the cushion. His eyes were closed. He had been 
smoking when he entered, but he had dropped his 
cigar half consumed into an ash-tray. 

Grange looked at him with renewed uneasiness, and 
looked away again. He could not help feeling that 
there was some moral tension somewhere ; but he had 


By Single Combat 


291 


never possessed a keen perception, he could not have 
said wherein it lay. 

He retired into his shell once more and sat down 
facing his host in silence that had become dogged. 

Suddenly, without moving, Nick spoke. 

His words were slightly more deliberate than usual, 
very even, very distinct. '‘To come to the point,’' 
he said. “ I saw you on the shore this afternoon — you 
and Mrs. Musgrave.” 

“What?” Grange gave a great start and stared 
across at him, gripping the arms of his chair. 

Nick’s face, however, remained quite expressionless. 
“ I saw you, ” he repeated. 

With an effort Grange recovered himself. “Did 
you though? I wondered how you knew I was down 
here. Where were you?” 

There was an abrupt tremor behind Nick’s eyelids, 
but they remained closed. “I was on the top of the 
cliff, on my own ground, watching you.” 

Dead silence followed his answer — a silence through 
which the sound of the sea half a mile away swelled 
terribly, like the roar of a monster in torment. 

Then at last Nick’s eyes opened. He looked Grange 
straight in the face. “ What are you going to do? ” he 
said. 

Grange’s hands dropped heavily from the chair^ 
arms, and his whole great frame drooped slowly 
forward. He made no further attempt at evasion, 
realising the utter futility of such a course. 

“ Do ! ” he said wearily. “ Nothing. ” 

“Nothing?” said Nick swiftly. 

“No, nothing,” he repeated, staring with a dull in- 
tentness at the ground between his feet. “It ’s an 
old story, and the less said about it the better. I can’t 


2g2 


THe Way of an liable 

discuss it with you or any one. I think it was a pity 
you took the trouble to watch me this afternoon.” 

He spoke with a certain dignity, albeit he refused 
to meet Nick’s eyes. He looked unutterably tired. 

Nick lay quite motionless in his chair, inscrutably 
still, save for the restless glitter behind his colourless 
eyelashes. At length, ” Do you remember a conversa- 
tion we had in this room a few months ago? ” he asked. 

Grange shook his head slightly, too engrossed with 
his miserable thoughts to pay much attention. 

‘‘Well, think!” Nick said insistently. “It had to 
do with your engagement to Muriel Roscoe. Perhaps 
you have forgotten that too?” 

Grange looked up then, shaking off his lethargy with 
a visible effort. He got slowly to his feet, and drew 
himself up to his full giant height. 

“No,” he said, “I have not forgotten it.” 

“Then,” said Nick, “once more — what are you 
going to do?” 

Grange’s face darkened. He seemed to hesitate 
upon the verge of vehement speech. But he re- 
strained himself though the hot blood mounted to his 
temples. 

“ I have never yet broken my word to a woman, ” he 
said. “I am not going to begin now.” 

“Why not?” said Nick, with a grin that was some- 
how fiendish. 

Grange ignored the gibe. “ There is no reason why 
I should not marry lier, ” he said. 

“No reason!” Nick’s eyes flashed upwards for an 
instant, and a curious sense of insecurity stabbed 
Grange. 

Nevertheless he made unfaltering reply. “No rea- 
son whatever.” 


By Single Combat 293 

Nick sat up slowly and regarded him with minute 
attention. ^'Are you serious?’' he asked finally. 

'' I am absolutely serious, ” Grange told him sternly. 
‘‘And I warn you, Ratcliffe, this is not a subject upon 
which I will bear interference.” 

“ Man alive!” jeered Nick. “You must think I ’m 
damned easily scared. ” 

He got up with the words, jerking his meagre body 
upright with a slight, fierce movement, and stood in 
front of Grange, arrogantly daring. 

“Now just listen to this,” he said. “I don’t care 
a damn how you take it, so you may as well take it 
quietly. It ’s no concern of mine to know how you 
have whitewashed this thing over and made it look 
clean and decent — and honourable — to your fastidi- 
ous eye. What I am concerned in is to prevent Mu- 
riel Roscoe making an unworthy marriage. And that 
I mean to do. I told you in the summer that she 
should be no man’s second best, and, by Heaven, she 
never shall. I had my doubts of you then. I know you 
now. And — I swear by all things sacred that I will 
see you dead sooner than married to her.” 

He broke off for a moment as though to get a firmer 
grip upon himself. His face was terrible, his body 
tense as though controlled by tight-strung wires. 

Before Grange could speak, he went on rapidly, 
with a resolution more deadly if less passionate than 
before. 

“If either of you had ever cared, it might have 
been a different matter. But you never did. I knew 
that you never did. I never troubled to find out your 
reason for proposing to her. No doubt it was strictly 
honourable. But I always knew why she accepted 
you. Did you know that, I wonder?” 


«94 


THe Way of an Ela^le 

** Yes, I did. '' Grange’s voice was deep and savage. 
He glowered down upon him in rising fury. ^*It was 
to escape you.” 

Nick’s eyes flamed back like the eyes of a crouching 
beast. He uttered a sudden, dreadful laugh. ^^Yes 
■ — to escape me, ” he said, to escape me! And it has 
fallen to me to deliver her from her chivalrous 
protector. If you look all round that, you may see 
something funny in it.” 

** Funny!” burst forth Grange, letting himself go 
at last. *‘It ’s what you have been playing for all 
along, you infernal mountebank ! But you have over- 
reached yourself this time. For that very reason I will 
never give her up.” 

He swung past Nick with the words, goaded past 
endurance, desperately aware that he could not trust 
himself within arm’s length of that gibing, devilish 
countenance. 

He reached the door and seized the handle, 
wrenched furiously for a few seconds, then flung 
violently round. 

^^Ratcliffe,” he exclaimed, ^‘for your own sake I 
advise you not to keep me here!” 

But Nick had remained with his face to the Are. He 
did not so much as glance over his shoulder. He had 
suddenly grown intensely quiet. ‘‘I haven’t quite 
done with you,” he said. ‘‘There is just one thing 
more I have to say.” 

Grange was already striding back like an enraged 
bull, but something in the voice or attitude of the man 
who leaned against the mantelpiece without troubling 
to face him, brought him up short. 

Against his will he halted. “Well?” he demanded. 

“ It ’s only this, ” said Nick. “ You know as well as 


By Single Combat 


295 


I do that I possess the means to prevent your marriage 
to Muriel Roscoe, and I shall certainly use that means 
unless you give her up of your own accord. You see 
what it would involve, don’t you? The sacrifice of 
your precious honour — and not yours only.” 

He paused as if to allow full vent to Grange’s anger, 
but still he did not change his position. 

‘‘You damned cur!” said Grange, his voice hoarse 
with concentrated passion. 

Nick took up his tale as if he had not heard. “ But, 
on the other hand, if you will write and set her free 
now, at once — I don’t care how you do it ; you can tell 
any likely lie that occurs to you — I on my part will 
swear to you that I will give her up entirely, that I will 
never plague her again, will never write to her or at- 
tempt in any way to influence her life, unless she on 
her own initiative makes it quite clear that she desires 
me to do so.” 

He ceased, and there fell a dead silence, broken only 
by the lashing rain upon the windows and the long, 
deep roar of the sea. He seemed to be listening to 
them with bent head, but in reality he heard nothing 
at all. He had made the final sacrifice for the sake of 
the woman he loved. To secure her happiness, her 
peace of mind, he had turned his face to the desert, at 
last, and into it he w’ould go, empty, beaten, crippled, 
to return no more for ever. 

Across the lengthening silence Grange’s voice came 
to him. There was a certain hesitation in it as though 
he were not altogether sure of his ground. 

“I am to take your word for all that?” 

Nick turned swiftly round. ‘‘You can do as you 
choose. I have nothing else to offer you.” 

Grange abandoned the point abruptly, feeling as a 


296 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


man who has lost his footing in a steep place and 
is powerless to climb back. Perhaps even he was 
vaguely conscious of something colossal hidden away 
behind that bafHing, wrinkled mask. 

‘‘Very well/* he said, with that dogged dignity in 
which Englishmen clothe themselves in the face of 
defeat. “ Then you will take my word to set her free. 

“To-night?** said Nick. 

“To-night.** 

There was another pause. Then Nick crossed to 
the door and unlocked it. 

“I will take your word,** he said. 

A few seconds later, when Grange had gone, he 
softly shut and locked the door once more, and re- 
turned to his chair before the fire. Great gusts of 
rain were being flung against the window-panes. The 
wind howled near and far with a fury that seemed to 
set the walls vibrating. Now and then dense puffs 
of smoke blew out across the hearth into the room, and 
the atmosphere grew thick and stifling. 

But Nick did not seem aware of these things. He 
sat on unheeding in the midst of his dust and ashes 
while the storm raged relentlessly above his head. 


CHAPTER XL 


THE woman’s choice 

W ITH the morning there came a lull in the 
tempest though the great waves that spent 
themselves upon the shore seemed scarcely less 
mountainous than when they rode before the full 
force of the storm. 

In Daisy Musgrave’s cottage above the beach, a 
woman with a white, jaded face sat by the window 
writing. A foreign envelope with an Indian stamp lay 
on the table beside her. It had not been opened; and 
once, glancing up, she pushed it slightly from her with 
a nervous, impatient movement. Now and then she 
sat with her head upon her hand thinking, and each 
time she emerged from her reverie it was to throw a 
startled look towards the sea as though its ceaseless 
roar unnerved her. 

Nevertheless, at sight of a big, loosely-slung figure 
walking slowly up the flagged path, a quick smile 
flashed into her face, making it instantly beautiful. 
She half rose from her chair, and then dropped back 
again, still faintly smiling, while the light which only 
one man’s coming can kindle upon any woman’s face 
shone upon hers, erasing all weariness and bitterness 
while it lingered. 

At the opening of the door she turned without rising. 
** So you have come after all ! But I knew you would. 
297 


298 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


Sit down a minute and wait while I finish this tiresome 
letter. I have just done.” 

She was already scribbling last words as fast as her 
pen would move, and her visitor waited for her with- 
out a word. 

In a few minutes she turned to him again. ** I have 
been writing a note to Muriel, explaining things a 
little. She does n’t yet know that I am here; but it 
would be no good for her to join me, for I am only 
packing. I shall leave as soon as I can get away. 
And she too is going almost at once to Mrs. Langdale, 
I believe. So we shall probably not meet again at 
present. You will be seeing her this afternoon. Will 
you give it to her?” 

She held the letter out to him, but he made no move 
to take it. His face was very pale, more sternly 
miserable than she had ever seen it. ‘‘I think you 
had better post it,” he said. 

She rose and looked at him attentively. ‘‘Why, 
what ’s the matter, Blake?” she said. 

He did not answer, and she went on immediately, 
still with her eyes steadily uplifted. 

“Do you know, Blake, I have been thinking all 
night, and I have made up my mind to have done 
with all this foolish sentimentality finally and for 
ever. From to-day forward I enter upon the pro- 
saic, middle-aged stage. I was upset yesterday at 
the thought of losing you so soon. It ’s been a lovely 
summer, has n’t it?” She stifled a sigh half uttered. 
“Well, it ’s over. You have to go back to India, and 
we must just make the best of it. ” 

He made a sharp movement, but said nothing. 
The next moment he dropped down heavily into a 
chair and sat bowed, his head in his hands. 


THe *Woman*s CKoice 299 

Daisy stood looking down at him, and slowly her 
expression changed. A very tender look came into 
her eyes, a look that made her seem older and at 
the same time more womanly. Very quietly she sat 
down on the arm of his chair and laid her hand upon 
him, gently rubbing it to and fro. 

''My own boy, don’t fret, don’t fret!” she said. 
"You will be happier by-and-by. I am sure of it.” 

He took the little hand from his shoulder, and held 
it against his eyes. At last after several seconds of 
silence he spoke. 

"Daisy, I have broken my engagement.” 

Daisy gave a great start. A deep glow overspread 
her face, but it faded very swiftly, leaving her white 
to the lips. "My dear Blake, why?” she whispered. 

He answered her with his head down. "It was 
Nick Ratcliffe’s doing. He made me.” 

" Made you, Blake! What can you mean?” 

Sullenly Grange made answer. "He had got the 
whip-hand, and I could n’t help myself. He saw us on 
the shore together yesterday afternoon, made up his 
mind then and there that I was no suitable partner 
for Muriel, got me to go and dine with him, and told 
me so.” 

"But Blake, how absurd!” Daisy spoke with a 
palpable effort. "How — how utterly unreasonable! 
What made you give in to him?” 

Grange would not tell her. " I should n’t have done 
so, ” he said moodily, " if he had n’t given his word that 
he would never pester Muriel again. She ’s well rid 
of me anyhow. He was right there. She will prob- 
ably see it in the same light. ” 

"What did you say to her?” questioned Daisy. 

"Oh, it does n’t matter, does it? I did n’t see her. 


300 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


I wrote. I did n’t tell her anything that it was un- 
necessary for her to know. In fact I did n’t give her 
any particular reason at all. She ’ll think me an 
infernal cad. And so I am.” 

^'You are not, Blake!” she declared vehemently. 

You are not!” 

He was silent, still tightly clasping her hand. 

After a pause, she made a gentle movement to 
withdraw it; but at that he turned with a sudden 
mastery and thrust his arms about her. ‘"Daisy,” 
he broke out passionately, “I can’t do without you! 
I can’t! I can’t! I’ve tried, — Heaven knows how 
I ’ve tried! But it can’t be done. It was madness 
ever to attempt to separate us. We were boimd to 
come together again. I have been drifting towards 
you always, always, even when I was n’t thinking of 
you.” 

Fiercely the hot words rushed out. He was holding 
her fast, though had she made the smallest effori to 
free herself he would have let her go. 

But Daisy sat quite still, neither yielding nor re- 
sisting. Only at his last words her lips quivered in a 
smile of tenderest ridicule. “I know, my poor old 
Blake, ” she said, “like a good ship without a rudder — 
caught in a strong current. ” 

“And it has been the same with you,” he insisted. 
“You have always wanted me more than ” 

He did not finish, for her hand was on his lips, re- 
straining him. “You mustn’t say it, dear. You 
must n’t say it. It hurts us both too much. There! 
Let me go ! It does no good, you know. It ’s all so 
vain and futile — now.” Her voice trembled suddenly, 
and she ceased to speak. 

He caught her hand away, looking straight up at her 


THe Woman’s CHoice 


301 


with that new-born mastery of his that made him so 
infinitely hard to resist. 

If it is quite vain, he said, then tell me to go, — 
and I will.” 

She tried to meet his eyes, but found she could not. 

— ^shall have to, Blake, ” she said in a whisper, 
am waiting, ” he told her doggedly. 

But she could not say the word. She turned her 
face away and sat silent. 

He waited with absolute patience for minutes. 
Then at last very gently he took his arms away from 
her and stood up. 

“I am going back to the inn,” he said. ^*And I 
shall wait there till to-morrow morning for your an- 
swer. If you send me away, I shall go without see- 
ing you again. But if — if you decide otherwise, ” — he 
lowered his voice as if he could not wholly trust it — 
^Hhen I shall apply at once for leave to resign. And — 
Daisy — we will go to the New World together, and 
make up there for all the happiness we have missed in 
the Old.” 

He ended almost under his breath, and she seemed 
to hear his heart beat through the words. It was al- 
most too much for her even then. But she held her- 
self back, for there was that in her woman's soul that 
clamoured to be heard — the patter of tiny feet that 
had never ceased to echo there, the high chirrup of a 
baby's voice, the vision of a toddling child with eager 
arms outstretched. 

And so she held her peace and let him go, though the 
struggle within her left her physically weak and cold, 
and she did not dare to raise her eyes lest he should 
surprise the love-light in them once again. 

It had come to this at last thpn — the final dividing 


302 


The ‘Way of an Ea^le 


of the ways, the definite choice between good and evil. 
And she knew in her heart what that choice would be, 
knew it even as the sound of the closing door reached 
her consciousness, knew it as she strained her ears to 
catch the fall of his feet upon the flagged path, knew it 
in every nerve and fibre of her being as she sprang to 
the window for a last glimpse of the man who had 
loved her all her life long, and now at last had won her 
for himself. 

Slowly she turned round once more to the writing- 
table. The unopened letter caught her eye. She 
picked it up with a set face, looked at it closely for a 
few moments, and then deliberately tore it into tiny 
fragments. 

A little later she went to her own room. Prom a 
lavender-scented drawer she took an envelope, and 
shook its contents into her hand. Only a tiny un- 
mounted photograph of a laughing baby, and a ring- 
let of baby hair! 

Her face quivered as she looked at them. They had 
been her dearest treasures. Passionately she pressed 
them to her trembling lips, but she shed no tears» 
And when she returned to the sitting-room there was 
no faltering in her step. 

She poked the fire into a blaze, and, kneeling, 
dropped her treasures into its midst. A moment’s 
torture showed in her eyes, and passed. 

She had chosen. 


CHAPTER XLl 


THE eagle's prey 

D uring the whole of that day Muriel awaited in 
restless expectancy the coming of her fiancS. 
She had not heard from him for nearly a week, and 
she had not written in the interval for the simple rea- 
son that she lacked his address. But every day she 
had expected him to pay his promised visit of farewell. 

It was hard work waiting for him. If she could 
have written, she would have done so days before in 
such a fashion as to cause him almost certainly to 
abandon his intention of seeing her. For her mind 
was made up at last after her long torture of inde- 
cision. Dr. Jim’s vigorous speaking had done its 
work, and she knew that her only possible course lay 
in putting an end to her engagement. 

She had always liked Blake Grange. She knew that 
she always would like him. But emphatically she did 
not love him, and she knew now with the sure intuition 
which all women develop sooner or later that he had 
never loved her. He had proposed to her upon a mere 
chivalrous impulse, and she was convinced that he 
would not wish to quarrel with her for releasing 
him. 

Yet she dreaded the interview, even though she was 
quite siure that he would not lose his self-control and 


304 


The Way of an liable 


wax violent, as had Nick on that terrible night at 
Simla. She was almost morbidly afraid of hurting his 
feelings. 

Of Nick she rigidly refused to think at all, though 
it was no easy matter to exclude him from her 
thoughts, for he always seemed to be clamouring for 
admittance. But she could not help wondering if, 
when Blake had gone at last and she was free, she 
would be very greatly afraid. 

She was sitting alone in her room that afternoon, 
watching the scudding rain-clouds, when Olga brought 
her two letters. 

'‘Both from Brethaven,’' she said, “but neither 
from Nick. I wonder if he is at Redlands. I hope he 
will come over here if he is. ” 

Muriel did not echo the hope. She knew the hand- 
writing upon both the envelopes, and she opened 
Daisy’s first. It did not take long to read. It simply 
contained a brief explanation of her presence at Bret- 
haven, which was due to an engagement having 
fallen through, mentioned Blake as being on the point 
of departure, and wound up with the hope that Muriel 
would not in any way alter her plans for her benefit as 
she was only at the cottage for a few days to pack her 
possessions and she did not suppose that she would 
care to be with her while this was going on. 

There was no reference to any future meeting, and 
Muriel gravely put the letter away in thoughtful 
silence. She had no clue whatever to the slackening 
of their friendship, but she could not fail to note with 
pain how far asunder they had drifted. 

She turned to Grange’s letter with a faint wonder as 
to why he should have troubled himself to write when 
he was so short a distance from her. 


THe Eagle's Prey 305 

It contained but a few sentences ; she read them with 
widening eyes. 

**Fate or the devil has been too strong for me, and 
I am compelled to break my word to you. I have no 
excuse to offer, except that my hand has been forced. 
Perhaps in the end it will be better for you, but I would 
have stood by had it been possible. And even now I 
would not desert you if I did not positively know that 
you were safe — that the thing you feared has ceased to 
exist. 

Muriel, I have broken my oath, and I can hardly 
ask your forgiveness. I only beg you to believe that 
it was not by my own choice. I was fiendishly driven 
to it against my will. I came to this place to say 
good-bye, but I shall leave to-morrow without seeing 
you unless you should wish otherwise. 

Grange.” 

She reached the end of the letter and sat quite still, 
staring at the open page. 

She was free, that was her first thought, free by no 
effort of her own. The explanation she had dreaded 
had become unnecessary. She would not even have 
to face the ordeal of a meeting. She drew a long 
breath of relief. 

And then swift as a poisoned arrow came another 
thought, — a stabbing, intolerable suspicion. Why 
had he thus set her free? How had his hand been 
forced? By what means had he been fiendishly driven? 

She read the letter through again, and suddenly her 
heart began to throb thick and hard, so that she gasped 
for breath. This was Nick’s doing. She was as sure 
of it as if those brief, bitter sentences had definitely 


20 


3o6 


TKe "Way of an Ha^I 


told her so. Nick was the motive power that had cx^m* 
pelled Grange to this action. How he had done it, she 
could not even vaguely surmise. But that he had in 
some malevolent fashion come between them she did 
not for an instant doubt. 

And wherefore? She put her hand to her throat, 
feeling suffocated, as the memory of that last interview 
with him on the shore raced with every fiery detail 
through her brain. He had marked her down for him- 
self, long , long ago, and whatever Dr. Jim might say, 
he had never abandoned the pursuit. He meant to 
capture her at last. She might flee, but he was follow- 
ing, tireless, fleet, determined. Presently he would 
swoop like an eagle upon his prey, and she would be 
utterly at his mercy. He had beaten Grange, and 
there was no one left to help her. 

Oh, Muriel,’' — ^it was Olga’s voice from the window 
— **come here, quick,, quick! I can see a hawk.” 

She started as one starts from a horrible dream, and 
looked round with dazed eyes. 

‘‘It’s hovering!” cried Olga excitedly. “It’s 
hovering ! There ! Now it has struck ! ” 

“And something is dead, ” said Muriel, in a voiceless 
whisper. 

The child turned round, saw something unusual in 
her friend’s face, and went impetuously to her. 

“Muriel, darling, you look so strange. Is anything 
the matter?” 

Muriel put an arm around her. “No, nothing,’^ 
she said. “Olga, will it surprise you very much to 
hear that I am not going to marry Captain Grange 
after all?” 

“ No, dear, ” said Olga. “ I never somehow thought 
vou would, and I did n’t want you to either.” 


TKe Eagle's Prey- 307 

'*Why not?’' Muriel looked up in some surprise* 
thought you liked him.” 

^*0h, yes, of course I do,” said Olga. ''But he 
is n’t half the man Nick is, even though he is a V.C. 
Oh, Muriel, I wish, — I do wish — you would marry 
Nick. Perhaps you will now. ’ ’ 

But at that Muriel cried out sharply and sprang to 
her feet, almost thrusting Olga from her. 

"No, never!” she exclaimed, "Never, — never, — 
never!” Then, seeing Olga’s hurt face, "Oh, forgive 
me, dear! I did n’t mean to be unkind. But please 
don’t ever dream of such a thing again. It — it ’s 
impossible — quite. Ah, there is the gong for tea. 
Let us go down.” 

They went down hand in hand. But Olga was very 
quiet for the rest of the evening; and she did not cling 
to Muriel as usual when she said good-night. 


CHAPTER XLII 


THE HARDEST FIGHT OF ALL 

I T was growing late on that same evening when to 
Daisy, packing in her room with feverish haste, a 
message was brought that Captain Ratclifle was 
waiting, and desired to see her. 

Her first impulse was to excuse herself from the 
interview, for she and Nick had never stood upon cere- 
mony; but a very brief consideration decided her to 
see him. Since he had come at an unusual hour, it 
seemed probable that he had some special object in 
view, and if that were so, she would find it hard to turn 
him from his purpose. But she resolved to make the 
interview as brief as possible. She had no place for 
Nick in her life just then. 

She entered the little parlour with a certain impetu- 
osity, that was not wholly spontaneous. ^^My dear 
Nick, she said, as she did so, ''I can give you exactly 
five minutes, not one second more, for I am frightfully 
busy packing up my things to leave to-morrow.’’ 

He came swiftly to meet her, so swiftly that she was 
for the moment deceived, and fancied that he was 
about to greet her with his customary bantering gal- 
lantry. But he did not lift her fingers to his lips after 
his usual gay fashion. He only held her proffered 
hand very tightly for several seconds without verbal 
greeting of any sort. 


308 


THe Hardest Fight of All 


309 


Suddenly he began to speak, and as he did so she 
seemed to see a hundred wrinkles spring into being on 
his yellow face. have something to say to you, 
Mrs. Musgrave, ” he said. ''And it ’s something so 
particularly beastly that I funk saying it. We have 
always been such pals, you and I, and that makes it 
all the harder.’' 

He broke off, his shrewd glance flashing over her, 
keen and elusive as a rapier. Daisy faced him quite 
fully and fearlessly. The possibility of a conflict in 
this quarter had occurred to her before. She would 
not shirk it, but she was determined that it should be 
as brief as possible. 

"Being pals does n’t entitle you to go trespassing, 
Nick,” she said. 

"I know that,” said Nick, speaking very rapidly. 
"None better. But I am not thinking of you only, 
though I hate to make you angry. Mrs. Musgrave — 
Daisy — I want to ask you, and you can’t refuse to 
answer. What are you doing? What are you going 
to do?” 

"I don’t know what you mean, ” she said, speaking 
coldly. "And anyhow I can’t stop to listen to you. 
I have n’t time. I think you had better go.” 

"You must listen,” Nick said. She caught the 
grim note of determination in his voice, and was aware 
of the whole force of his personality flung suddenly 
against her. " Daisy, ’ ’ he said, " you are to look upon 
me as Will’s representative. I am the nearest friend 
he has. Have you thought of him at all lately, stewing 
in those hellish Plains for your sake? He ’s such a 
faithftd chap, you know. Can’t you go back to him 
soon? Is n’t it — forgive me — is n’t ib a bit shabby to 
play this sort of game when there ’s a fellow like that 


310 


THe “Way of an Ha^le 


waiting for you and fretting his very heart out because 
you don’t go?” 

He stopped — his lips twitching with the vigour of 
his appeal. And Daisy realised that he would have to 
be told the simple truth. He would not be satisfied 
with less. 

Very pale but quite calm, she braced herself to tell 
him. '‘I am afraid you are pleading a lost cause,” 
she said, her words quiet and very distinct. am 
never going back to him. ” 

” Never!” Nick moved sharply drawing close to 
her. Never?” he said again; then with abrupt ve- 
hemence, ‘‘ Daisy, you don’t mean that! You did n’t 
say it!” 

She drew back slightly from him, but her answer 
was perfectly steady, rigidly determined. have 
said it, Nick. And I meant it. You had better go. 
You will do no good by staying to argue. I know all 
that you can possibly say, and it makes no difference 
to me. I have chosen.” 

'‘What have you chosen?” he demanded. 

For an instant she hesitated. There was something 
almost fierce in his manner, something she had never 
encountered before, something that in spite of her 
utmost effort made her feel curiously uneasy, even 
apprehensive. She had always known that there was 
a certain uncanny strength about Nick, but to feel 
the whole weight of it directed against her was a new 
experience. 

“What have you chosen?” he repeated relentlessly. 

And reluctantly, more than half against her will, she 
told him. “ I am going to the man I love. ” 

She was prepared for some violent outburst upon 
her words, but none came. Nick heard her in silence. 


The Hardest Fi^ht of .All 31 1 


standing straight before her, watching her, she felt, 
with an almost brutal intentness, though his eyes 
never for an instant met her own. 

'^Then,” he said suddenly at length, and quick 
though they were, it seemed to her that the words fell 
with something of the awful precision of a death- 
sentence, ''God help you both; for you are going to 
destroy him and yourself too.’’ 

Daisy made a sharp gesture; it was almost one of 
shrinking. And at once he turned from her and fell 
to pacing the little room, up and down, up and down 
incessantly, like an animal in a cage. It was useless 
to attempt to dismiss him, for she saw that he would 
not go. She moved quietly to a chair and sat down 
to wait. 

Abruptly at last he stopped, halting in. front of her. 
"Daisy,” — he began, and broke off short, seeming to 
battle with himself. 

She looked up in surprise. It was so utterly unlike 
Nick to relinquish his self-command at a critical junc- 
ture. The next moment he amazed her still further. 
He dropped suddenly down on his knees and gripped 
her clasped hands fast. 

"Daisy,” he said again, and this time words came, 
jerky and passionate, "this is my doing. I ’ve driven 
you to it. If I had n’t interfered with Grange, you 
would never have thought of it. ” 

She sat without moving, but the hasty utterance had 
its effect upon her. Some of the rigidity went out of 
her attitude. " My dear Nick,” she said, "what is the 
good of saying that?” 

"Is n’t it true?” he persisted. 

She hesitated, unwilling to wound him. 

"You know it is true, ” he declared with vehemence* 


312 


The Way of an Ea^le 


If I had let him alone, he would have married Muriel, 
and this thing would never have happened. God 
knows I did what was right, but if it does n’t turn out 
right, I ’m done for. I never believed in eternal dam- 
nation before, but if this thing comes to pass it will be 
hell-fire for me for as long as I live. For I shall never 
believe in God again.” 

He swung away from her as though in bodily tor- 
ture, came in contact with the table and bowed his 
head upon it. For many seconds his breathing, thick 
and short, almost convulsed, was the only sound in the 
room. 

As for Daisy, she sat still, staring at him dumbly, 
witnessing his agony till the sight of it became more 
than she could bear. Then she moved, reached stiffly 
forward, and touched him. 

^'You are not to blame yourself, Nick,” she said. 

He did not stir. “ I don’t, ” he answered, and again 
fell silent. 

At last he moved, seemed to pull himself together, 
finally got to his feet. 

'‘Do you think you will be happy?” he said. "Do 
you think you will ever manage to forget what you 
have sacrificed to this fetish you call Love, — how you 
broke the heart of one of the best fellows in the world, 
and trampled upon the memory of your dead child — 
the little chap you used to call the light of your eyes, 
who used to hold out his arms directly he saw you and 
cry when you went away?” 

His voice was not very steady, and he paused but 
he did not look at her or seem to expect any reply. 

Daisy gave a great shiver. She felt cold from head 
to foot. But she was not afraid of Nick. If she 
yielded, it would not be through fear. 


The Hardest Fig;ht of All 


313 


A full minute crawled away before he spoke again. 
^‘And this fellow Grange,’' he said then. ''He is a 
man who values his honour. He has lived a clean life. 
He holds an unblemished record. He is in your hands. 
You can do what you like with him — whatever yotu: 
love inspires you to do. You can pull him back into a 
straight course, or you can wreck him for good and all. 
Which is it going to be, I wonder? It ’s a sacrifice 
either way, — a sacrifice to Love or a sacrifice to devils. 
You can make it which you will. But if it is to be the 
last, never talk of Love again. For Love — real Love 
— is the safeguard from all evil. And if you can do 
this thing, it has never been above your horizon, and 
never will be.” 

Again he stopped, and again there was silence while 
Daisy sat white-faced and slightly bowed, wondering 
when it would be over, wondering how much longer 
she could possibly endure. 

And then suddenly he bent down over her. His 
hand was on her shoulder. "Daisy,” he said, and 
voice and touch alike implored her, "give him up, 
dear! Give him up! You can do it if you will, if 
your love is great enough. I know how infernally 
hard it is to do. I ’ve done it myself. It means tear- 
ing your very heart out. But it will be worth it — it 
must be worth it — afterwards. Y ou are bound — some 
time — to reap what you have sown.” 

She lifted a haggard face. There was something in 
the utterance that compelled her. And so looking, she 
saw that which none other of this man’s friend’s had 
ever seen. She^saw his naked soul, stripped bare of all 
deception, of all reserve, — a vital, burning flame shin- 
ing in the desert. The sight moved her as had nought 
else. 


314 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


“Oh, Nick,” she cried out desperately, “I can’t— 
I can^t!” 

He bent lower over her. He was looking straight 
down into her eyes. “ Daisy, ” he said very urgently, 
“Daisy, for God’s sake — try!” 

Her white lips quivered, striving again to refuse. 
But the words would not come. Her powers of re- 
sistance had begun to totter. 

“You can do it,” he declared, his voice quick and 
passionate as though he pleaded with her for life itself. 
“You can do it — if you wdlL I will help you. You 
shan’t stand alone. Don’t stop to think. Just come 
with me now — at once — and put an end to it before 
you sleep. For you can’t do this thing, Daisy. It 
is n’t in you. It is all a monstrous mistake, and you 
can’t go on with it. I know you better than you know 
yourself. We have n’t been pals all these years for 
nothing. And there is that in your heart that won’t 
let you go on. I thought it was dead a few minutes 
ago. But, thank God, it is n’t. I can see it in your 
eyes.” 

She uttered an inarticulate sound that was more 
bitter than any weeping, and covered her face. 

Instantly Nick straightened himself and turned 
away. He went to the window and leaned his head 
against the sash. He had the spent look of a man who 
has fought to the end of his strength. The thunder of 
the waves upon the shore filled in the long, long silence. 

Minutes crawled away, and still he stood there with 
his face to the darkness. At last a voice spoke behind 
him, and he turned. Daisy had risen. 

She stood in the lamplight, quite calm and collected. 
There was even a smile upon her face, but it was a 
3mile that was sadder than tears. 


XHe Hardest Fi^Kt of All 


315 


*‘It *s been a desperate big fight, has n’t it, Nick?’’ 
she said. ''But — ^my dear — you’ve won. For the 
sake of my little baby, and for the sake of the man I 
love — yes, and partly for your sake too,” — she held out 
,her hand to him with the words — " I am going back to 
the prison-house. No, don’t speak to me. You have 
said enough. And, Nick, I must go alone. So I want 
you, please, to go away, and not to come to me again 
until I send for you. I shall send sooner or later. 
Will you do this?” 

Her voice never faltered, but the misery in her eyes 
cut him to the heart. In that moment he realised how 
terribly near he had been to losing the hardest battle 
he had ever fought. 

He gave her no second glance. Simply, without a 
word, he stooped and kissed the hand she had given 
him; then turned and went noiselessly away. 

He had won indeed, but the only triumph he knew 
was the pain of a very human compassion. 

Scarcely five minutes after his departure, Daisy let 
herself out into the night that lay like a pall above the 
moaning shore. She went with lagging feet that often 
stumbled in the darkness. It was only the memory 
of a baby’s head against her breast that gave her 
strength. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


REQUIESCAT 

** f BELIEVE I heard a gun in the night,” remarked 
i Mrs. Ratcliffe at the breakfast-table on the fol- 
lowing morning. 

‘‘ Should n’t be surprised, ” said Dr. Jim. I know 
there was a ship in distress off Calister yesterday. 
They damaged the lifeboat trying to reach her. But 
the wind seems to have gone down a little this morning. 
Do you care for a ride, Muriel?” 

Muriel accepted the invitation gladly. She liked 
accompanying Dr. Jim upon his rounds. She had ar- 
ranged to leave two days later, a decision which the 
news of Daisy’s presence at Brethaven had not affected. 
Daisy seemed to have dropped her for good and all, 
and her pride would not suffer her to inquire the reason. 
She had, in fact, begun to think that Daisy had merely 
tired of her, and that being so she was the more willing 
to go to Mrs. Langdale, whose letters of fussy kindliness 
seemed at least to ensure her a cordial welcome. 

She had discussed her troubles no further with Dr. 
Jim. Grange’s letter had in some fashion placed 
matters beyond discussion. And so she had only 
briefly told him that her engagement was at an end, 
and he had gruffly expressed his satisfaction thereat. 
Her one idea now was to escape from Nick’s neigh- 
bourhood as speedily as possible. It possessed her 
even in her dreams. 


316 


Reqviiescat 


317 


She went with Dr. Jim to the surgery when break- 
fast was over, and sat down alone in the consulting- 
room to wait for him. He usually started on his 
rounds at ten o'clock, but it wanted a few minutes to 
the hour and the motor was not yet at the door. 
She sat listening for it, hoping that no one would 
appear to detain him. 

The morning was bright, and the wind had fallen 
considerably. Through the window she watched the 
falling leaves as they eddied in sudden draughts along 
the road. She looked through a wire screen that gave 
rather a depressing effect to the sunshine. 

Suddenly from some distance away there came to 
her the sound of a horse's hoof-beats, short and hard, 
galloping over the stones. It was a sound that ar- 
rested the attention, awaking in her a vague, appre- 
hensive excitement. Almost involuntarily she drew 
nearer to the window, peering above the blind. 

Some seconds elapsed before she caught sight of the 
headlong horseman, and then abruptly he dashed into 
sight round a curve in the road. At the same instant 
the gallop became a fast trot, and she saw that the 
rider was gripping the animal with his knees. He had 
no saddle. 

Amazed and startled, she stood motionless, gazing 
at the sudden apparition, saw as the pair drew nearer 
what something within her had already told her loudly 
before her vision served her, and finally drew back 
with a sharp, instinctive contraction of her whole body 
as the horseman reined in before the surgery-door 
and dismounted with a monkey-like dexterity, his 
one arm twined in the bridle. A moment later the 
surgery-bell pealed loudly, and her heart stood still. 
She felt suddenly sick with a nameless foreboding. 


TKe "Way of an £a^le 


318 

Standing with bated breath, she heard Dr. Jim him- 
self go to answer the summons, and an instant later 
Nick’s voice came to her, gasping and imeven, but 
every word distinct. 

‘‘Ah, there you are! Thought I should catch you. 
Man, you ’re wanted — quick 1 In heaven’s name — lose 
no time. Grange was drowned early this mornings 
and — I believe it ’s killed Daisy. For mercy’s sake, 
come at once!” 

There was a momentary pause. Muriel’s heart was 
beating in great sickening throbs. She felt stiff and 
powerless. 

Dr. Jim’s voice, brief and decided, struck through 
the silence. “Come inside and have something. I 
shall be ready to start in three minutes. Leave your 
animal here. He ’s dead beat.” 

There followed the soimd of advancing feet, a 
hand upon the door, and the next moment they en- 
tered together. Nick was reeling a little and holding 
Jim’s arm. He saw Muriel with a sharp start, standing 
as she had tiimed from the window. The doctor’s 
brows met for an instant as he put his brother into a 
chair. He had forgotten Muriel. 

With an effort she overcame the paralysis that 
boimd her, and moved forward with shaking limbs. 

“Did you say Blake was — dead?” she asked, her 
voice pitched very low. 

She looked at Nick as she asked this question, and it 
was Nick who answered her in his quick, keen way, as 
though he realised the mercy of brevity. 

“Yes. He and some fisher chaps went out early 
this morning in an ordinar}^ boat to rescue some fellows 
on a wreck that had drifted on to the rocks outside 
the harbour. The lifeboat had been damaged, and 


Req\iiescat 


319 


could n't be used. They reached the wreck all right, 
but there were more to save than they had reckoned 
on — more than the boat would carry — and the wreck 
was being battered to pieces. It was only a matter of 
seconds for the tide was rising. So they took the lot, 
and Grange went over the side to make it possible. 
He hung on to a rope for a time, but the seas were tre- 
mendous, and after a bit it parted. He was washed 
up two hours ago. He had been in the water since 
three, among the rocks. There was n't the smallest 
chance of bringing him back. He was long past any 
help we could give." 

He ended abruptly, and helped himself with a jerk 
to something in a glass that Jim had placed by his side. 

Muriel stood dumbly watching. She noticed with 
an odd, detached sense of curiosity that he was shiver- 
ing violently as one with an ague. Dr. Jim was 
already making swift preparations for departure. 

Suddenly Nick looked up at her. His eyes were 
glittering strangely. know now," he said, “what 
you women feel like when you can only stand and look 
on. We have been looking on — Daisy and I — ^just 
looking on, for six mortal hours. " He banged his fist 
with a sort of condensed fury upon the table, and leapt 
to his feet. “Jim, are you ready? I can’t sit still 
any longer." 

“Finish that stuff, and don’t be a fool!" ordered 
Jim curtly. 

Muriel turned swiftly towards him. “You 'll take 
me with you ! ” she said very earnestly. 

Nick broke in sharply upon the request. “No, no, 
Muriel! You 're not to go. Jim, yxDU can’t — you 
shan't — take her! I won’t allow it!" 

But Muriel was clinging to Dr. Jim’s arm with 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


320 

quivering face upraised. “You Avill take me,” she 
entreated. “I was able to help Daisy before. I can 
help her now.” 

But even before she spoke there flashed a swift 
glance between the two brothers that foiled her appeal 
almost before it was uttered. With a far greater 
gentleness than was customary with him, but with 
unmistakable decision, Dr. Jim refused her petition. 

“I can’t take you now, child. But if Daisy should 
ask for you, or if there is anything under the sim that 
you can do for her, I will promise to let you know. ” 

It was final, but she would not have it so. A sudden 
gust of anger caught her, anger against the man for 
whose sake she had one night shed so many bitter 
tears, whom now she so fierily hated. She still climg 
to Jim. She was shaking all over. 

“What does it matter what Nick says?” she urged 
pantingly. “Why give in to him at every turn? I 
won’t be left behind — just because he wishes it!” 

She would have said more. Her self-control was 
tottering; but Dr. Jim restrained her. “My dear, it 
is not for Nick’s sake,” he said. “Come, you are 
going to be sensible. Sit down and get your breath. 
There ’s no time for hysterics. I must go across and 
speak to my wife before I go.” 

He looked at Nick who instantly responded. “Yes, 
you be off! I ’U look after her. Be quick, man, be 
quick!” 

But when Dr. Jim was gone, his impatience fell 
away from him. He moved round the table and stood 
before her. He was steady enough now, steadier far 
than she. 

“Don’t take it too hard,” he said. “At least hf 
died like a man.” 


Kequiescat 


321 


She did not draw away from him. There was no 
room for fear in her heart just then. It held only 
hatred — a fierce, consuming flame — that enabled her 
to face him as she had never faced him before. 

“Why did you let him go?” she demanded of him, 
her voice deep and passionate, her eyes unwaveringly 
upon him. “ There must have been others. You were 
there. Why did n’t you stop him?” 

“I stop him!” said Nick, and a flash of something 
that was almost humour crossed his face. “You seem 
to think I am omnipotent. ” 

Her eyes continued to challenge him. “You alwa>"S 
manage to get your own way somehow, ” she said veiy 
bitterly, “by fair means or foul. Are you going to 
deny that it was you who made him write that letter?” 

He did not ask her what she meant. “ No, ” he said 
with a promptitude that took her by surprise. “ I plead 
guilty to that. As you are aware, I never approved 
of your engagement.” 

His effrontery stimg her into what was almost a 
state of frenzy. Her eyes blazed their utmost scorru 
She had never been less afraid of him than at that 
moment. She had never hated him more intensely. 

“You could make him do a thing like that,” she 
said. “And yet you couldn’t hold him back from 
certain death!” 

He answered her without heat, in a tone she deemed 
most hideously callous. “It was not my business to 
hold him back. He was wanted. There would have 
been no rescue but for him. They needed a man to 
lead them, or they would n’t have gone at all. ” 

His composure goaded her beyond all endurance. 
She scarcely waited for him to finish, nor was she 
wholly responsible for what she said* 


21 


XKe Way of an Ela^le 


322 

‘‘Was there only one man among you, then?’’ she 
asked, with headlong contempt. 

He made her a curious, jerky bow. “One man — 
yes,” he said. “The rest were mere sheep, with the 
exception of one — who was a cripple.” 

Her heart contracted suddenly with a pain that was 
physical. She felt as if he had struck her, and it 
goaded her to a fiercer cruelty. 

“You knew he would never come back!” she de- 
clared, her voice quivering uncontrollably with the 
passion that shook her. ‘ ‘ Y ou — you never meant him 
to come back!” 

He opened his eyes wide for a single instant, and she 
fancied that she had touched him. It was the first 
time in her memory that she had ever seen them fully. 
Instinctively she avoided them, as she would have 
avoided a flash of lightning. 

And then he spoke, and she knew at once that her 
wild accusation had in no way hurt him. “You think 
that, do you?” he said, and his tone sounded to her as 
though he barely repressed a laugh. “Awfully nice of 
you! I wonder what exactly you take me for.” 

She did not keep him in suspense on that point. If 
she had never had the strength to tell him before, she 
could tell him now. 

“I take you for a fiend!” she cried hysterically. 
“I take you for a fiend!” 

He turned sharply from her, so sharply that she 
was conscious of a moment’s fear overmastering her 
madness. But instantly, with his back to her, he 
spoke, and her brief misgiving was gone. 

“It does n’t matter much now what you take me 
for,” he said, and again in the cracked notes of his 
voice she seemed to hear the echo of a laugh. “You 


Reqvliescat 


323 


won’t need to seek any more protectors so far as I am 
concerned. You will never see me again unless the 
gods ordain that you should come and find me. It 
is n’t the way of an eagle to swoop twice — particularly 
an eagle with only one wing. ” 

The laugh was quite audible now, and she never saw 
how that one hand of his was clenched and pressed 
against his side. He had reached the door while he 
was speaking. Turning swiftly, he cast one dickering, 
inscrutable glance towards her, and then with no ges- 
ture of farewell was gone. She heard his receding 
footsteps die away while she struggled dumbly to quell 
the tumult of her heart. 


CHAPTER XLIV 


love’s prisoner 

L ate that evening a scribbled note reached Muriel 
from Dr. Jim. 

‘‘You can do nothing whatever, ” he wrote. “ Daisy 
is suffering from a sharp attack of brain fever, caused 
by the shock of her cousin’s death, and I think it ad- 
visable that no one whom she knows should be near 
her. You may rest assured that all that can be done 
for her will be done. And, Muriel, I think you will be 
wise to go to Mrs. Langdale as you originally intended. 
It will be better for you, as I think you will probably 
realise. You shall be kept informed of Daisy’s 
condition, but I do not anticipate any immediate 
change.” 

She was glad of those few words of advice. Her 
anxiety regarding Daisy notwithstanding, she knew it 
would be a relief to her to go. The strain of many 
days was telling upon her. She felt herself to be on 
the verge of a break-down, and she longed unspeakably 
to escape. 

She went to her room early on her last night at Weir, 
but not in order to rest the longer. She had something 
to do, something from which she shrank with a strange 
reluctance, yet which for her peace of mind she dared 
not leave neglected. 

It was thus she expressed it to herself as with 

32iif 


Love*s Prisoner 


325 


trwntling fingers she opened the box that contained 
all her sacred personal treasures. 

It lay beneath them all, wrapped in tissue-paper, as 
it had passed from his hand to hers, and for long 
she strove to bring herself to slip the tiny packet 
unopened into an envelope and seal it down — yet 
could not. 

At last — it was towards midnight — she yielded to 
the force that compelled. Against her will she un- 
folded the shielding paper and held that which it 
contained upon the palm of her hand. Burning 
rubies, red as heart's blood, ardent as flame, flashed 
and glinted in the lamp-light. OMNIA VINCIT 
AMOR" — how the words scorched her memory! 
And she had wondered once if they were true! 

She knew now! She knew now! He had forced 
her to realise it. He had captured her, had kindled 
within her — by what magic she knew not — the undy- 
ing flame. Against her will, in spite of her utmost re- 
6istance, he had done this thing. Above and beyond 
and through her fiercest hatred, he had conquered her 
quivering heart. He had let her go again, but not till 
he had blasted her happiness for ever. None other 
could ever dominate her as this man dominated. 
None other could ever kindle in her — or ever quench 
--the torch that this man’s hand had lighted. 

And this was Love — this himger that could never 
be satisfied, this craving which would not be stifled 
or ignored — Love triumphant, invincible, immortal — 
the thing she had striven to slay at its birth, but which 
had lived on in spite of her, growing, spreading, envel- 
oping, till she was lost, till she was suffocated, in its 
immensity. There could never be any escape for her 
again. She was fettered hand and foot. It was use- 


326 TKe Way of an Ela^le 

less any longer to strive. She stood and faced the 
truth. 

She did not ask herself how it was she had ever come 
to care. She only numbly realised that she had always 
cared. And she knew now that to no woman is it 
given so to hate as she had hated without the spur of 
Love goading her thereto. Ah, but Love was cruel! 
Love was merciless 1 For she had never known — nor 
ever could know now — the ecstasy of Love. Truly, 
it conquered; but it left its prisoners to perish of 
starvation in the wilderness. 

A slight sound in the midnight silence! A timid 
hand softly trying the door-handle! She sprang up, 
dropping the ring upon her table, and turned to see 
Olga in her nightdress, standing in the doorway. 

was awake,’’ the child explained tremulously. 
‘‘And I heard you moving. And I wondered, dear 
Muriel, if perhaps I could do anything to help you. 
You — you don’t mind?” 

Muriel opened her arms impulsively. She felt as if 
Olga had been sent to lighten her darkest hour. 

For a while she held her close, not speaking at all; 
and it was Olga who at last broke the silence. 

“Darling, are you crying for Captain Grange?” 

She raised her head then to meet the child’s gaze of 
tearful sympathy. 

“I am not crying, dear,” she said. “And — ^it 
would n’t be for him if I were. I don’t want to cry for 
him. I just envy him, that ’s all.” 

She leaned her head against Olga’s shoulder, rocking 
a little to and fro with closed eyes. “ Yes, ” she said at 
last, “you can help me, Olga, if you will. That ring 
on the table, dear, — a ring with rubies — do you see it? 

^ Yes,” breathed Olga, holding her very close. 


Lovers Prisoner 


327 


^Tben just take it, dear.” Muriers voice was un- 
utterably weary; she seemed to speak with a great 
effort. ^^It belongs to Nick. He gave it to me once, 
long ago, in remembrance of something. I want you to 
give it back to him, and tell him simply that I prefer 
to forget. ” 

Olga took up the ring. Her lips were trembling. 
^‘Aren’t you — aren’t you being nice to Nick any 
more, Muriel?” she asked in a whisper. 

Muriel did not answer. 

‘‘Not when you promised?” the child urged pite- 
ously. 

There was silence. Muriel’s face was hidden. Her 
black hair himg about her like a cloud, veiling her 
from her friend’s eyes. For a long time she said no- 
thing whatever. Then at last without moving she 
made reply. 

“It ’s no use, Olga. I can’t! I can’t! It ’s not 
my doing. It ’s his. Oh, I think my heart is broken! ” 

Through the anguish of weeping that followed, Olga 
clasped her passionately close, frightened by an in- 
tensity of suffering such as she had never seen before 
and was powerless to alleviate. 

She slept with Muriel that night, but, waking in the 
dawning, just when Muriel had sunk to sleep, she crept 
out of bed and, with Nick’s ring grasped tightly in her 
hand, softly stole away. 


PART V 


CHAPTER XLV 


THE VISION 


GORGEOUS sunset lay in dusky, fading crimson 



Upon the Plains, trailing to darkness in the east. 
The day had been hot and cloudless, but a faint, chill 
wind had sprung up with the passing of the sun, and it 
flitted hither and thither like a wandering spirit over 
the darkening earth. 

Down in the native quarter a tom-tom throbbed, per- 
sistent, exasperating as the voice of conscience. Some- 
where in the distance a dog barked restlessly, at 
irregular intervals. And at a point between tom-tom 
and dog a couple of parrots screeched vociferously. 

Over all, the vast Indian night was rushing down on 
silent, mysterious wings. Crimson merged to grey in 
the telling, and through the falling dark there shone, 
detached and wonderful, a single star. 

In the little wooden bungalow over against the 
water- works a light had been kindled and gleamed out 
in a red streak across the Plain. Other lights were 
beginning to flicker also from all points of the com- 
pass, save only where a long strip of jungle lay like a 
blot upon the face of the earth. But the red light 
burned the steadiest of them all. 

It came from the shaded lamp of an Englishman, 


328 


THe Vision 


329 


and beneath it with stubborn, square-jawed deter- 
mination the Englishman sat at work. 

Very steadily his hand moved over the white paper, 
and the face that was bent above it never varied — a 
face that still possessed something of the freshness of 
youth though the set of the lips was firm even to stern- 
ness and the line of the chin was hard. He never 
raised his eyes as he worked except to refer to the note- 
book at his elbow. The passage of time seemed of no 
moment to him. 

Yet at the soft opening of the door, he did look up 
for an instant, a gleam of expectancy upon his face 
that died immediately. 

^^All right, Sammy, directly,” he said, returning 
without pause to his work. 

Sammy, butler, bearer, and general factotum, 
irreproachable from his snowy turban to his white- 
slippered feet, did not take the hint to retire, but 
stood motionless just inside the room, waiting with 
statuesque patience till his master should deign to 
bestow upon him the favour of his full attention. 

After a little Will Musgrave realised this, and with 
an abrupt sigh sat back in his chair and rubbed his hand 
across his forehead. 

^‘Well.^” he said then. ^'You needn’t trouble to 
tell me that the mail has passed, for I heard the 
fellow half an hour ago. Of course there were no 
letters?” 

The man shook his head despondingly. ” No letters, 
sahib.” 

‘'Then what do you want?” asked Will, beginning 
to eye his work again. 

Sammy — so dubbed by Daisy long ago because his 
own name was too sore a tax upon her memory — sent a 


330 


THe W’ay of an Ea^Ie 


look of gleaming entreaty across the lamp-lit space 
that separated him from his master. 

'^The dinner grows cold, sahib,’' he observed pa- 
thetically. 

Will smiled a little. “All right, my good Sammy. 
What does it matter? I 'm sure if I don’t mind, you 
need n’t. And I ’m busy just now. ” 

But the Indian stood his ground. “What will my 
mem-sahib say to me,” he said, “when she comes and 
finds that my lord has been starved?” 

Will’s face changed. It was a very open face, 
boyishly sincere. He did not laugh at the earnest 
question. He only gravely shook his head. 

“ The mem-sahib will come, ” the man declared, with 
conviction. “And what will her servant say when she 
asks him why his master is so thin? She will say, 

^ Sammy, I left him in your care. What have you 
done to him?’ And, sahib, what answer can her 
servant give?” 

WiU clasped his hands at the back of his head in 
a careless attitude, but his face was grim. “I don’t 
think you need worry yourself, Sammy,” he said. “I 
am not expecting the mem-sahib — at present.” 

Nevertheless, moved by the man’s solicitude, he 
rose after a moment and laid his work together. He 
might as well dine, he reflected, as sit and argue 
about it. With a heavy step he passed into the room 
where dinner awaited him, and sat down at the table. 

No, he was certainly not expecting her at present. 
He had even of late begun to ask himself if he expected 
her at all. It was five months now since the news of 
her severe illness had almost induced him to throw 
everything aside and go to her. He had only been de- 
terred from this by a very serious letter from Dr. Jim, 


THe Vision 


331 


strongly advising him to remain where he was, since 
it was highly improbable that he would be allowed to 
see Daisy for weeks or even months were he at hand, 
and she would most certainly be in no fit state to re- 
turn with him to India. That letter had been to Will 
as the passing knell of all he had ever hoped or desired. 
Definitely it had told him very little, but he was not 
lacking in perception, and he had read a distinct and 
wholly unmistakable meaning behind the guarded, 
kindly sentences. And he knew when he laid the 
letter down that in Dr. Jim’s opinion his presence 
might do incalculable harm. Prom that day forward 
he had entertained no further idea of return, settling 
down again to his work with a dogged patience that 
was very nearly allied to despair. 

He was tmdoubtedly a rising man. There were 
prospects of a speedy improvement in his position. It 
was unlikely that he would be called upon to spend 
another hot season in the scorching Plains. Steady 
perseverance and indubitable talent had made their 
mark. But success was dust and ashes to him now. 
He did not greatly care if he went or stayed. 

That Daisy was well again, or on the high-road to 
recovery, he knew; but he had not received a single 
letter from her since her illness. 

Jim’s epistles were very few and far between, but 
Nick had maintained a fairly regular correspondence 
with him till a few weeks back when it had unaccount- 
ably lapsed. But then Nick had done unaccountable 
things before, and he did not set down his silence to 
inconstancy. He was probably making prodigious ef- 
forts on his behalf, and Will awaited every mail with an 
eagerness he could not quite suppress, which turned in- 
variably, however, into a sick sense of disappointment. 


332 


TKe Way of an Ela^le 


That Daisy would ever return to him now he did 
not for an instant believe, but there remained the 
chance — the slender, infinitesimal chance — that she 
might ask him to go to her. More than a fl3dng visit 
she would know he could not manage. His work was 
his living, and hers. But so much Nick’s powers of 
persuasion might one day accomplish though he would 
not allow himself to contemplate the possibility, while 
week by week the chance dwindled. 

So he sat alone and unexpectant at his dinner-table 
that night and made heroic efforts to pacify the vigil- 
ant Sammy whose protest had warmed his heart a little 
if it had not greatly assisted his appetite. 

He was glad when the meal was over, and he could 
saunter out on to the verandah with his cigar. The 
night was splendid with stars; but it held no moon. 
The wind had died away, but it had left a certain chill 
behind; and somehow he was reminded of a certain 
evening of early summer in England long ago, when 
he and Daisy had strolled together in an English gar- 
den, and she had yielded impulsively to his earnest 
wooing and had promised to be his wife. He remem- 
bered still the little laugh half sweet, half bitter, with 
which she had surrendered, the soft raillery of her 
blue eyes that yet had not wholly mocked him, the 
dainty charm of her submission. She had not loved 
him. He had known it even then. She had almost 
told him so. But with a boy’s impetuosity he had 
taken the little she had to give, trusting to the future 
to make her all his own. 

Ah, well! He caught himself sighing, and found 
that his cigar was out. With something less 
than his customary self-suppression he pitched it 
forth into the darkness. He could not even smoke 


The Vision 


333 

with any enjoyment. He would go indoors and 
work. 

He swung round on his heel, and started back along 
the verandah towards his room from which the red 
light streamed. Three strides he took with his eyes 
upon the ground. Then for no reason that he knew he 
glanced up towards that bar of light. The next in- 
stant he stood still as one transfixed, and all the blood 
rushed in tumult to his heart. 

There, motionless in the full glare — watching him, 
waiting for him — stood his wife! 


CHAPTER XLVI 


THE HEART OF A MAN 

S HE did not utter a single word or move to greet 
him. Even in that ruddy light she was white 
to the lips. Her hands were fast gripped together. 
She did not seem to breathe. 

So for full thirty seconds they faced one another, 
speechless, spell-boimd, while through the awful 
silence the cry of a jackal sounded from afar, seeking 
its meat from God. 

Will was the first to move, feeling for his handker- 
chief mechanically and wiping his forehead. Also he 
tried to speak aloud, but his voice was gone. ‘^Pull 
yourself together, you fool!'’ he whispered savagely. 
^‘She ’ll be gone again directly.” 

She caught the words apparently, for her attitude 
changed. She parted her straining hands as though 
by great effort, and moved towards him. 

Out of the glare of the lamplight she looked more 
normal. She wore a grey travelling-dress, but her hat 
was off. He fancied he saw the sparkle of the starlight 
in her hair. 

She came towards him a few steps, and then she 
stopped. ** Will, ” she said, and her voice had a pite- 
ous tremble in it, ‘‘won’t you speak to me? Don’t 
you — don’t you know me?” 

Her voice awoke him, brought him down from the 


Tlie Heart of a Marx 


335 


soaring heights of imagination as it were with a 
thud. He strode forward and caught her hands in 
his. 

‘‘Good heavens, Daisy!” he said. “I thought I 
was dreaming! How on earth ” 

And there he stopped dead, checked in mid career, 
for she was leaning back from him, leaning back with 
all her strength that he might not kiss her. 

He stood, still holding her hands, and looked at her. 
There was a curious, choked sensation at his throat, 
as if he had swallowed ashes. She had come back to 
him — she had come back to him indeed, but he had a 
feeling that she was somehow beyond his reach, further 
away from him in that moment of incredible reunion 
than she had ever been during all the weary months of 
their separation. This woman with the pale face and 
tragic eyes was a total stranger to him. Small wonder 
that he had thought himself to be dreaming ! 

With a furious effort he collected himself. He let 
her hands slip from his. “Come in here,” he said, 
forcing his dry throat to speech by sheer strength of 
will. “You should have let me know.” 

She went in without a word, and came to a stand 
before the table that was littered with his work. 
She was agitated, he saw. Her hand was pressed 
against her heart, and she seemed to breathe with 
difficulty. 

Instinctively he came to her aid with commonplace 
phrases — the first that occurred to him. “How did 
you come ? B ut no matter ! Tell me presently. Y ou 
must have something to eat. You look dead beat. 
Sit down, won't ” 

And there he stopped again, breaking off short to 
fttare at her. in the lighted room she had turned to 


336 


THe of an £a^le 


face him, and he saw that her hair was no longer golden 
but silvery white. 

Seeing his look, she began to speak in hurried, un- 
even sentences. ‘‘I have been ill, you know. It — ^it 
was brain fever, Jim said. Hair — fair hair particu- 
larly — does go like that sometimes.’* 

“You are well again? ” he questioned. 

“Oh, quite — quite.” There was something almost 
feverish in the assertion; she was facing him with des- 
perate resolution. “I have been well for a long time. 
Please don’t send for anything. I dined at the d^k- 
bungalow an hour ago. I — I thought it best.” 

Her agitation was increasing. She panted between 
each sentence. Will turned aside, shut and bolted the 
window, and drew the blind. Then he went close to 
her; he laid a steady hand upon her. 

“Sit down,” he said, “and tell me what is the 
matter.” 

She sank down mutely. Her mouth was quivering; 
she sought to hide it from him with her hand. 

“Tell me,” he said again, and quietly though he 
spoke there was in his tone a certain mastery that had 
never asserted itself in the old days; “What is it? 
Why have you come to me like this?” 

“ I — have n’t come to stay. Will,” she said, her voice 
so low that it was barely audible. 

His face changed. He looked suddenly dogged* 
“After twenty months!” he said. 

She bent her head. “I know. It ’s half a lifetime 
— ^more. You have learnt to do without me by this. 
At least — I hope you have — for your own sake.” 

He made no comment on the words ; perhaps he did 
not hear them. After a brief silence she heard his 
vow above her bowe<^ head. “Something is wrong* 


THe Heart of a Man 


337 


You ’ll tell me presently, won’t you? But — really you 
need n’t be afraid. ” 

Something in the words — was it a hint of tenderness? 
— renewed her failing strength. She commanded her- 
self and raised her head. She scarcely recognised in 
the steady, square-chinned man before her the impul- 
sive, round-faced boy she had left. There was some- 
thing unfathomable about him, a hint of greatness 
that affected her strangely. 

Yes, ” she said. Something is wrong. It is what 
I am here for — what I have come to tell you. And 
when it is over, I ’m going away — I ’m going away — 
out of your life — for ever, this time.” 

His jaw hardened, but he said nothing whatever. 
He stood waiting for her to continue. 

She rose slowly to her feet though she was scarcely 
capable of standing. She had come to the last ounce 
of her strength, but she spent it bravely. 

^^Will,” she said, and though her voice shook un- 
controllably every word was clear, ''1 hardly know how 
to say it. You have always trusted me, always been 
true to me. I think — once — you almost worshipped 
me. But you ’ll never worship me any more, because 
— because — I am unworthy of you. Do you under- 
stand? I was held back from the final wickedness, or 
— or I should n’t be here now. But the sin was there 
in my heart. Heaven help me, it is there still. There ! 
I have told you. It — was your right. I don’t ask for 
mercy or forgiveness. Only punish me — punish me 
— and then — let me — go!” 

Voice and strength failed together. Her limbs 
doubled under her, and she sank suddenly down at his 
feet, sobbing — terrible, painful, tearless sobs that 
seemed to rend her very being. 


22 


338 


TKe "Way of an £a^le 


Without a word he stooped and lifted her. He was 
white to the lips, but there was no hesitancy about him. 
He acted instantly and decidedly as a man quite sure 
of himself. 

He carried her to the old charpoy by the window and 
laid her down. 

Many minutes later, when her anguish had a little 
spent itself, she realised that he was kneeling beside 
her, holding her pressed against his heart. Through all 
the bitter chaos of her misery and her shame there 
came to her the touch of his hand upon her head. 

It amazed her — it thrilled her, that touch of his; in 
a fashion it awed her. She kept her face hidden from 
him ; she could not look up. But he did not seek to see 
her face. He only kept his hand upon her throbbing 
temple till she grew still against his breast. 

Then at length, his voice slow and deep and very 
steady, he spoke. Daisy, we will never speak of this 
again. '' 

She gave a great start. Pity, even a certain meas- 
ure of kindness, she had almost begun to expect; but 
not this — not this! She made a movement to draw 
herself away from him, but he would not suffer it. 
He only held her closer. 

''Oh, don’t, Will, don’t!” she implored him brokenly. 
‘'For your own sake — let me go!” 

"For my own sake, Daisy,” he answered quietly, — 
"and for yours, since you have come to me, I will 
never let you go again.” 

"But you can’t want me,” she insisted piteously. 
" Don’t be generous, Will. I can’t bear it. Anything 
but that! I would rather you cursed me — ^indeed — 
indeed!” 

His hand restrained her, silenced her. "Hush!'^ 


XHe Heart of a Man 


339 


he said. You are my wife. I love you, and I want 
you.*' 

Tears came to her then with a rush, blinding, burn- 
ing, overwhelming, and yet their very agony was relief 
to her. She made no further effort to loosen his hold. 
She even feebly clung to him as one needing support. 

'^Ah, but I must tell you — I must tell you,” she 
whispered at last. ^^If — if you mean to forgive me, 
you must know — everything.” 

Tell me, if it helps you, ” he answered, and he spoke 
with the splendid patience that twenty weary months 
had wrought in him. '^Only believe — before you be- 
gin — ^that I have forgiven you. For — before God — ^it 
is the truth.” 

And so presently, lying in his arms, her face hidden 
low on his breast, she told him all, suppressing nothing, 
extenuating nothing, simply pouring out the whole 
bitter story, sometimes halting, sometimes incoherent, 
but never wavering in her purpose, till, like an evil 
growth that yet clung about her palpitating heart, her 
sin lay bare before him — the sin of a woman who had 
almost forgotten that Love is a holy thing. 

He heard her to the end with scarcely a word, and 
when she had finished he made one comment only. 

^‘And so you gave him up.” 

She shivered with the pain of that memory. Yes, 
I gave him up — I gave him up. Nick had made me see 
the hopelessness of it all — ^the wickedness. And he — 
he let me go. He saw it too — at least he understood. 
And on that very night — oh, Will, that awful night — 
he went to his death. ” 

His arms grew closer about her. “My poor girl!” 
he said. 

“Ah, but you shouldn’t!” she sobbed. “You 


340 TKe Way of an Ea^le 

should n’t! You ought to hate me — ^to despise 

me. 

“Hush!’’ he said again. And she knew that with 
that one word he resolutely turned his back upon 
the gulf that had opened between them during those 
twenty months — that gulf that his love had been great 
enough to bridge — and that he took her with him, 
bruised and broken and storm-tossed as she was, into 
a very sheltered place. 

When presently he turned her face up to his own and 
gravely kissed her she clung to his neck like a tired 
child, no longer fearing to meet his look, only thankful 
for the comfort of his arms. 

For a while longer he held her silently, then very 
quietly he began to question her about her journey. 
Had she told him that she had been putting up at the 
d^k-bungalow? 

“Oh, only for a few hours,” she answered. “We 
arrived this evening, Nick and I.” 

“Nick!” he said. “And you left him behind?” 

“He is waiting to take me back,” she murmured, 
her face hidden against his shoulder. 

Again, very tenderly, his hand pressed her forehead. 
“He must come to us, eh, dear? I will sent the khii 
down with a note presently. But you are tired out, 
and must rest. Lie here while I go and tell Sammy 
to make ready.” 

It was when he came back to her that she began to 
see wherein lay the change in him that had so struck 
her. 

From her cushions she looked up at him, piteously 
smiling. “Flow thin you are. Will! And you are 
getting quite a scholarly stoop.” 

“Ah, that ’s India, ” he said. 


TKe Heart of a Maxi 34I 

But she knew that it was not India at all, and her 
face told him so, though he affected not to see it. 

He bent over her. '*Now, Daisy, I am going to 
carry you to bed as I used — do you remember? — at 
Simla, after the baby came. Dear little chap! Do 
you remember how he used to smile in his sleep? ’’ 

His voice was hushed, as though he stood once more 
beside the tiny cot. 

She sat up, yielding herself to his arms. ** Oh, Will,” 
she said, with a great sob, “if only he had lived!” 

He held her closely, and lying against his breast she 
felt the sigh he stifled. His lips were upon the silvered 
hair. 

“Perhaps — some day — Daisy,” he said, under his 
breath. 

And she, clinging to him, whispered back through 
her tears, “Oh, Will, — I do hope so. ” 


CHAPTER XLVII 


IN THE NAME OF FRIENDSHIP 

I T was very hot down on the buzzing race-course, 
almost intolerably so in the opinion of the girl who 
sat in Lady Bassett's elegantly-appointed carriage, and 
looked out with the indifference of boredom upon the 
sweltering crowds. 

'‘Dear child, don’t look so freezingly aloof!” she 
had been entreated more than once; and each time the 
soft injunction had reached her the wide dark eyes had 
taken to themselves a more utter disdain. 

If she looked freezing, she was far from feeling it, 
for the hot weather was at its height, and Ghawalk- 
hand, though healthy, was not the coolest spot in 
the Indian Empire. Sir Reginald Bassett had been 
appointed British Resident, to act as adviser to the 
young rajah thereof, and there had been no question 
of a flitting to Simla that year. Lady Bassett had 
deplored this, but Muriel rejoiced. She never wanted 
to see Simla again. 

Life was a horrible emptiness to her in those days. 
She was weary beyond expres^on, and had no heart 
for the gaieties in which she was plunged. Idle com- 
pliments had never attracted her, and flirtations were 
an abomination to her. She looked through and be- 
yond them with the eyes of a sphinx. But there were 
very few who suspected the intolerable ache that 
342 


In tKe Name of FriendsKip 343 

throbbed unceasingly behind her impassivity — the 
loneliness of spirit that oppressed her like a crushing, 
physical weight. 

Even Bobby Fraser, who saw most things, could 
scarcely have been aware of this ; yet certainly it was 
not the vivacity of her conversation that induced him 
to seek her out as he generally did when he saw her 
sitting apart. A very cheery bachelor was Bobby 
Fraser, and a tremendous favourite wherever he went. 
He was a wonderful organizer, and he invariably had 
a hand in anything of an entertaining nature that was 
going forward. 

He had just brought her tea, and was waiting beside 
her while she drank it. Lady Bassett had left the 
carriage for the paddock, and Muriel sat alone. 

Had she had anything on the last race, he wanted 
to know? Muriel had not. He had had, and was 
practically ruined in consequence — a calamity which 
in no way seemed to affect his spirits. 

‘‘Who would have expected a rank outsider like 
that to walk over the course? Ought to have been 
disqualified for sheer cheek. Reminds me of a chg,p 
I once knew — forget his name — Nick something or 
other— who entered at the last minute for the Great 
Mogul’s Cup at Sharapura. Did it for a bet, they 
said. It ’s years ago now. The horse was a perfect 
brute — all bone and no flesh — with a temper like the 
foul fiend and no points whatever — looked a regular 
crock at starting. But he romped home on three legs, 
notwithstanding, with his jockey clinging to him like 
an inspired monkey. It was the only race he ever 
won. Every one put it down to black magic or 
personal magnetism on the part of his rider. Same 
thing, I believe. He was the sort of chap who always 


344 


XHe "Way of an Ea^le 


comes out on top. Rum thing I can’t remember his 
name. I had travelled out with him on the same 
boat once too. Have some more tea. ” 

This was a specimen of most of Bobby Fraser’s 
conversation. He was brimful of anecdotes. They 
flowed as easily as water from a foimtain. Their 
source seemed inexhaustible. He never repeated him- 
self to the same person. 

Muriel declined his offer of more tea. For some 
reason she wanted to hear more of the man who had 
won the Great Mogul’s Cup at Sharapura. 

Bobby was more than willing to oblige. “Oh, it 
was sheer cheek that carried him through, of course. 
I always said he was the cheekiest beggar under the 
sun — quite a little chap he was, hideously ugly, with a 
face like a baked apple, and eyes that made you think 
of a cinematograph. You know the sort of thing. I 
used to think he had a future before him, but he seems 
to have dropped out. He was only about twenty 
when I had him for a stable-companion. I remember 
one outrageous thing he did on the voyage out. There 
was card-playing going on in the saloon one night, and 
he was looking on. One of the lady-players — well, I 
suppose I may as well call it by its name — one of 
them cheated. He detected it. Beastly position, of 
course. Don’t know what I should have done under 
^he circumstances, but anyhow he was n’t at a loss. 
He simply lighted a cigarette and set fire to the lady’s 
dress.” 

Muriel’s exclamation of horror was ample testimony 
to the fact that her keenest interest was aroused. 

“Yes, awfully risky, was n’t it? ” said Bobby. “ We 
only thought at the time he had been abominably care- 
less. I did not hear the rights of the case till after- 


In tKe Name of FriendsKip 345 


wards, and then not from him. There was a fine 
flareup, of course — card- table overturned — ^ladies in 
hysterics — in the middle of the fray our gallant hero 
extinguishing the flames with his bare hands. He was 
profusely apologetic and rather badly scorched. The 
lady took very little harm, except to her nerves and 
her temper. She cut him dead for the rest of the voy- 
age, but I don't think it depressed him much. He was 
the sort of fellow that never gets depressed. Hullo! 
There 's Mrs. Philpot making violent signs. I sup- 
pose I had better go and see what she wants, or be 
dropped for evermore. Good-bye!" 

He smiled upon her and departed, leaving her 
thoughtful, with a certain wistfiil wonder in her eyes. 

Lady Bassett's return interrupted her reverie. 
‘^You have had some tea, I hope, dear? Ah, I 
thought Mr. Bobby Fraser was making his way in this 
direction. So sweet of him not to forget you when he 
has so many other calls upon his attention. And how 
are you faring for to-night? Is your programme full 
yet? I have literally not one dance left." 

Lady Bassett had deemed it advisable to ignore the 
fact of Muriel's brief engagement to Captain Grange 
since the girl's return to India. She knew, as did her 
husband, that it had come to an end before Grange's 
death, but she withheld all comment upon it. Her one 
desire was to get the dear child married without delay, 
and she was not backward in letting her know it. Life 
at Ghawalkhand was one continuous round of gaiety, 
and she had every opportunity for forwarding her 
scheme. Though she deplored Muriel's unresponsive- 
ness, she yet did not despair. It was sheer affectation 
on the girl's part, she would tell herself, and would 
soon pass. And after all, that queenly, aloof air had 


346 


XHe of an Ea^le 


a charm that was all its own. It might not attract the 
many, but she had begun to fancy of late that Bobby 
Fraser had felt its influence. He was not in the least 
the sort of man she would have expected to do so, but 
there was no accoimting for taste — masculine taste 
especially. And it would be an excellent thing for 
Muriel. 

She was therefore being particularly gracious to her 
young charge just then — a state of affairs which Muriel 
endured rather than appreciated. She would never 
feel at her ease v/ith Lady Bassett as long as she lived. 

She was glad when they drove away at length, for 
she wanted to be alone. Those anecdotes of Bobby’s 
had affected her strangely. She had felt so completely 
cut off of late from all things connected with the past. 
No one ever mentioned Nick to her now — not even 
her faithful correspondent Olga. Meteor-like, he had 
flashed through her sky and disappeared; leaving a 
burning, ineradicable trail behind him, it is true, but 
none the less was he gone. She had not the faintest 
idea where he was. She would have given all she had 
to know, yet could not bring herself to ask. It seemed 
highly improbable that he would ever cross her path 
again, and she knew she ought to be glad of this; yet 
no gladness ever warmed her heart. And now here 
was a man who had known him, who had told her of 
exploits new to her knowledge yet how strangely famil- 
iar to her understanding, who had at a touch brought 
before her the weird personality that her imagination 
sometimes strove in vain to summon. She could have 
sat and listened to Bobby’s reminiscences for hours. 
The bare mention of Nick’s name had made her blood 
run faster. 

Lady Bassett did not trouble her to converse during 


In tHe Name of FriendsHip 347 

the drive back, ascribing to her evident desire for si- 
lence a reason which Muriel was too absent to suspect. 
But when the girl roused herself to throw a couple of 
annas to an old beggar who was crouched against the 
entrance to the Residency grounds she could not resist 
giving utterance to a gentle expostulation. 

I wish you would not encourage these people, dear- 
est. They are so extremely undesirable, and there is 
so much unrest in the State just now that I cannot 
but regard them with anxiety.” 

Muriel murmured an apology, with the inward re- 
servation to bestow her alms next time when Lady 
Bassett was not looking on. 

She found a letter lying on her table when she en- 
tered her room, and took it up listlessly, without much 
interest. Her mind was still running on those two an- 
ecdotes with which Bobby Fraser had so successfully 
enlivened her boredom. The writing on the envelope 
was vaguely familiar to her, but she did not associate 
it with anything of importance. Absently she opened 
it, half reluctant to recall her wandering thoughts. 
It came from a Hill station in Bengal, but that told 
her nothing. She turned to the signature. 

The next instant she had turned back again to 
the beginning, and was reading eagerly. Her cor- 
respondent was Will Musgrave. 

** Dear Miss Roscoe, ” — ran the letter. ** After long 
consideration I have decided to write and beg of you a 
favour which I fancy you will grant more readily than 
I venture to ask. My wife, as you probably know, 
joined me some months ago. She is in very indifferent 
health, and has expressed a most earnest wish to see 
you. I believe there is something which she wishes to 


34S 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


tell you — something that weighs upon her heavily; 
and though I trust that all will go well with her, I can- 
not help feeling that she would stand a much better 
chance of this if only her mind could be set at rest. I 
know I am asking a big thing of you, for the journey is 
a ghastly one at this time of the year, but if of your 
goodness you can bring yourself to face it, I will my- 
self meet you and escort you across the Plains. Will 
you think the matter carefully over? And perhaps 
you would wire a reply. 

“I have written without Daisy’s knowledge, as she 
seems to feel that she has forfeited the right to your 
friendship. — Sincerely yours, 

“W. Musgrave.” 

Muriel’s reply was despatched that evening, almost 
before she had fully read the appeal. 

“Starting to-morrow,” was all she said. 


CHAPTER XLVIII 


THE HEALING OF THE BREACH 

L ady BASSETT considered the decision deplor- 
ably headlong, and said so; but her remon- 
strances were of no avail. Muriel tossed aside her 
listlessness as resolutely as the ball-dress that had 
been laid out for the evening’s festivity, and plunged 
at once into preparations for her journey. She knew 
full well that it was of no actual importance to Lady 
Bassett whether she went or stayed, and she did not 
pretend to think otherwise. Moreover, no power on 
earth would have kept her away from Daisy now that 
she knew herself to be wanted. 

Though more than half of the three days’ journey 
lay across the sweltering Plains, she contemplated it 
without anxiety, even with rejoicing. At last, the 
breach, over which she had secretly mourned so 
deeply, was to be healed. 

The next morning at an early hour she was upon her 
way. She looked out as she drove through the gates 
for the old native beggar who had crouched at the 
entrance on the previous afternoon. He was not there, 
but a little way further she met him hobbling along to 
take up his post for the day. From the folds of his 
chtcddah his unkempt beard wagged entreaty at the 
carriage as it passed. Impulsively, because of the 
349 


350 


The of an Ea^le 


gladness tkat was so new to her lonely heart, she 
leaned from the window and threw him a rupee. 

Looking back upon the journey later, she never 
remembered its tedium. She was as one borne on the 
wings of love, and she scarcely noticed the hardships of 
the way. 

Will Musgrave met her according to his promise at 
the great junction in the Plains. She found him ex- 
ceedingly solicitous for her welfare, but so grave and 
silent that she hardly liked to question him. He 
thanked her very earnestly for coming, said that 
Daisy was about the same, and then left her almost 
exclusively to the society of her ayah. 

The heat in the Plains was terrific, but Muriel’s 
courage never wavered. She endured it with un- 
faltering resolution, hour after hour reckoning the 
dwindling miles that lay before them, passing over all 
personal discomfort as of no account, content only to 
be going forward. 

But they left the Plains behind at last, and then 
came to the welcome ascent to the Hill station through 
a country where pine-trees grew ever more and more 
abundant. 

At length at the close of a splendid day they reached 
it, and as they were nearing their destination Will 
broke through his silence. 

She does n’t know even yet that you are coming, 
he said. “I thought th-e suspense of waiting for you 
might be bad for her. Miss Roscoe — in heaven’s 
name — make her happy if you can!” 

There was such a passion of entreaty in his voice 
that Muriel was deeply touched. She gave him her 
hand impulsively. 

“Mr. Musgrave,” she said, “to this day I do not 


TKe Healing of tKe Breach 351 


Know what it was that came between us, but I promise 
— I promise — that if any effort of mine can remove it, 
it shall be removed to-night/' 

Will Musgrave squeezed her fingers hard. ‘*God 
bless you!’' he said earnestly. 

And with that he left her, and went on ahead to 
prepare Daisy for her coming. 

All her life Muriel remembered Daisy’s welcome of 
that evening with a thrill of pain. They met at the 
gate of the little compound that surrounded the bun- 
galow Will had taken for his wife, and though the light 
of the sinking sun smote with a certain ruddiness 
upon Daisy, Muriel was unspeakably shocked by 
her appearance. 

Her white hair, her deathly pallor, the haunting 
misery of her eyes — above all, her silence — went 
straight to the girl’s heart. Without a single word she 
gathered Daisy close in her warm young arms and so 
held her in a long and speechless embrace. 

After all, it was Daisy who spoke first, gently draw- 
ing herself away. ''Come in, darling! You must be 
nearly dead after your awful journey. I can’t think 
how Will could ask it of you at this time of the year. 
I could n’t myself.” 

"I would have come to you from the world’s end 
— and gladly,” Muriel answered, in her deep voice. 
"You know I would.” 

And that was all that passed between them, for Will 
was present, and Daisy had already begun to lead her 
guest into the house. 

As the evening wore on, Muriel was more and more 
struck by the great change she saw in her. They had 
not met for ten months, but twice as many years 
seemed to have passed over Daisy, crushing her be- 


352 


TKe *Way of an £a^le 


neath their weight. All her old sprightliness had van- 
ished utterly. She spoke but little, and there was in 
her manner to her husband a wistful humility, a sub- 
mission so absolute, that Muriel, remembering her 
ancient spirit, could have wept. 

Will looked at her as if he longed to say something 
when she bade him good-night, but Daisy was beside 
her, and he could only give her a tremendous hand- 
grip. 

They went away together, and Daisy accompanied 
her to her room. But the wall of reserve that had been 
built up between them was not to be shattered at a 
touch. Neither of them knew exactly how to approach 
it. There was no awkwardness between them, there 
was no lack of tenderness, but the door that had closed 
so long ago was hard to open. Daisy seemed to avoid 
it with a morbid dread, and it was not in Muriel’s 
power to make the first move. 

So for awhile they lingered together, talking com- 
monplaces, and at length parted for the night, holding 
each other closely, without words. 

It seemed evident that Daisy could not bring herself 
to speak at present, and Muriel went to bed with a 
heavy heart. 

She was far too weary to lie awake, but her tired 
brain would not rest. For the first time in many 
dreary months she dreamed of Nick. 

He was jeering at her in devilish jubilation because 
she had changed her mind about marrying him, but 
lacked the courage to tell him so. 


CHAPTER XLIX 


THE LOWERING OF THE FLAG 

T he night was very far advanced when Muriel 
was aroused from her dreams by a sound which 
she drowsily fancied must have been going on for some 
time. It did not disturb her very seriously at first; 
she even subconsciously made an effort to ignore it. 
But at length a sudden stab of understanding pierced 
her sleep-laden senses, and in a moment she started up 
broad awake. Some one was in the room with her. 
Through the dumb stillness before the dawn there 
came the sound of bitter weeping. 

For a few seconds she sat motionless, startled, be- 
wildered, half afraid. The room was in nearly total 
darkness. Only in dimmest outline could she discern 
the long French window that opened upon the veran- 
dah. 

The weeping continued. It was half smothered, 
but it sounded agonised. A great wave of compassion 
swept suddenly over Muriel. All in a moment she 
imderstood. 

Swiftly she leaned forward into the darkness, feel- 
ing outwards till her groping hands touched a figure 
that crouched beside the bed. 

Daisy! Daisy, my darling!’’ she said, and there 
was anguish in her own voice. “What is it?” 

In a second the sobbing ceased as if some magic had 

23 ..^53 


354 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


silenced it. Two hands reached up out of the darkness 
and tightly clasped hers. A broken voice whispered 
her name. 

''What is it?” Muriel repeated in growing distress. 
"Hush, dear, hush!” the trembling voice implored. 
" Don’t let Will hear ! It worries him so. ” 

"But, my darling, — ” Muriel protested. 

She began to feel for some matches, but again the 
nervous hands caught and imprisoned hers. 

"Don’t — please!” Daisy begged her earnestly. 
"I — I have something to tell you — something that will 
shock you unutterably. And I — I don’t want you to 
see my face. ” 

She resisted Muriel’s attempt to put her arms about 
her. "No — no, dear! Hear me first. There! Let 
me kneel beside you. It will not take me long. It 
is n’t just for my own sake I am going to speak, nor 
yet — entirely — for yours. You will see presently. 
Don’t ask me anything — please — till I have done. 
And then if — ^if there is anything you want to know, I 
will try to tell you. ” 

" Come and lie beside me, ” Muriel urged. 

But Daisy would not. She had sunk very low be- 
side the bed. For a while she crouched there in silence 
while she summoned her strength. 

Then, "Oh, Muriel,” she suddenly said, and the 
words seemed to burst from her with a great sigh, " I 
wonder if you ever really loved Blake. ” 

"No, dear, I never did.” Muriel’s answer came 
quiet and sincere through the darkness. " Nor did he 
love me. Our engagement was a mistake. I was 
going to tell him so — if things had been different. ” 

"I never thought you cared for him,” Daisy said. 
" But oh, Muriel, I did. I loved him with my whole 


The Lowering of tKe Fla^ 355 


soul. No, don’t start! It is over now — at least that 
part of it that was sinful. I only tell you of it because 
it is the key to everything that must have puzzled you 
so horribly all this time. We always loved each other 
from the very beginning, but our people would n’t hear 
of it because we were cousins. And so we separated 
and I used to think that I had put it away from me. 
But — last summer — ^it all came back. You must n’t 
blame him, Muriel. Blame me — blame me!” The 
thin hands tightened convulsively. It was when my 
baby died that I began to give way. We never meant 
it — either of us — but we did n’t fight hard enough. 
And then at last — at Brethaven — Nick found it out; 
and it was because he knew that Blake’s heart was not 
in his compact with you that he made him write to you 
and break it off. It was not for his own ends at all 
that he did it. It was for your sake alone. He even 
swore to Blake that if he would put an end to his en- 
gagement, he on his part would give up all idea of 
winning you and would never trouble you any more.. 
And that was the finest thing he ever did, Muriel, for 
he never loved any one but you. Surely you know it. 
You must know it by this time. You have never un- 
derstood him, but you must have begun to realise that 
he has loved you well enough to set your happiness 
and well-being always far, far before his own.” 

Daisy paused. Her weeping had wholly ceased, 
but she was shivering from head to foot. 

Muriel sat in silence above her, watching wide-eyed,^ 
unseeing, the vague hint of light at the open window. 
She was beginning to understand many things — ah,, 
many things — that had been as a sealed book to her 
till then. 

After a time Daisy went on. No one will ever know 


356 


THe Way of an Ea^le 


what Nick was to me at that time, how he showed me 
the wickedness of it all, how he held me back from tak- 
ing the final step, making me realise — even against my 
will — that Love — true Love — is holy, conquering 
all evil. And afterwards — afterwards — when Blake 
was gone — he stood by me and helped me to live, and 
brought me back at last to my husband. I could 
never have done it alone. I had n’t the strength. 
You see” — the low voice faltered suddenly — never 
expected Will to forgive me. I never asked it of him 
— any more than I am asking it of you. ” 

“Oh, my darling, there is no need ! ” Muriel turned 
suddenly to throw impetuous arms about the huddled 
figure at her side. “Daisy! Daisy! I love you. 
Let us forget there has ever been this thing between us. 
Let us be as we used to be, and never drift apart again.” 

Tenderly but insistently, she lifted Daisy to the 
bed beside her, holding her fast. The wall between 
them was broken down at last. They clung together 
as sisters long parted. 

Daisy, spent by the violence of her emotion, lay for 
along time in Muriel’s arms without attempting any- 
thing further. But at length with a palpable effort she 
began to speak of other things. 

“You know, I have a feeling — perhaps it is morbid 
— that I am not going to live. I am sure Will thinks 
so too. If I die, Muriel, — three months from now — 
you and Nick must help him all you can.” 

“You are not going to die,” Muriel asserted vehe- 
mently. “You are not to talk of dying, or think of it. 
Oh, Daisy, can’t you look forward to the better time 
that is coming — when you will have something to live 
for? And won’t you try to think more of Will? It 
would break his heart to lose you. ” 


TKe Lowering of tKe Flag 357 

'' I do think of him, Daisy said wearily. '‘I would 
do anything to make him happier. But I can’t look 
forward. I am so tired — so tired. ” 

''You will feel differently by-and-by,” Muriel 
whispered. 

“ Perhaps, ” she assented. "I don’t know. I don’t 
feel as if I shall ever hold another child in my arms. 
God knows I don’t deserve it.” 

"Do you think He looks at it in that way?” 
murmured Muriel, her arms tightening. "There 
would n’t be much in life for any of us if He 
did.” 

"I don’t know,” Daisy said again. 

She lay quiet for a little as though pondering some- 
thing. Then at length hesitatingly she spoke. 
"Muriel, there is one thing that whether I live or 
whether I die I want with my whole heart. May 
I tell you what it is?” 

"Of course, dear. What is it?” 

Daisy turned in her arms, holding her in a clasp that 
was passionate. "My darling,” she whispered very 
earnestly, "I would give all I have in the world to 
know you happy with — with the man you love.” 

Silence followed the words. Muriel had become 
suddenly quite still; her head was bent. 

"Don’t — don’t bar me out of your confidence,” 
Daisy implored her tremulously. "There is so little 
left for me to do now. Muriel — dearest — you do love 
him?” 

Muriel moved impulsively, hiding her face in her 
friend’s neck. But she said no word in answer. 

Daisy went on softly, as though she had spoken. 
"He is still waiting for you. I think he will wait all 
his life, though he will never come to you again unless 


358 


The Way of an £a^le 


you call him. Won’t you — can’t you — send him just 
one little word?” 

^'How can I?” The words broke suddenly from 
A^uriel as though she could no longer restrain them. 
‘*How can I possibly?” 

''It could be done,” Daisy said. "I know he is 
still somewhere in India though he has left the Army. 
We could get a message to him at any time.” 

"Oh, but I couldn’t — I couldn’t!” Muriel had 
begun to tremble violently. There was a sound of 
tears in her deep voice. "Besides — he would n’t 
come. ” 

"My dear, he would,” Daisy assured her. "He 
would come to you directl}?’ if he only knew that you 
wanted him. Muriel, surely you are not — not too 
proud to let him know!” 

"Proud! Oh, no, no!” There was almost a moan 
in the words. Muriel’s head sank a little lower. 
"Heaven knows I ’m not proud,” she said. "I am 
ashamed — miserably ashamed. I have trampled on 
his love so often — so often. How could I ask him for 
it — now?” 

"Ah, but if he came to you,” Daisy persisted, "if 
in spite of all he came to you, you would n’t send him 
away?” 

"Send him away!” A sudden note of passion 
thrilled in Muriel’s voice. She lifted her head sharply. 
With the tears upon her cheeks she yet spoke with a 
certain exultation. "I — I would follow him barefoot 
across the world,” she said, "if — if he would only lift 
one finger to call me. But oh, Daisy,” — her confi- 
dence vanished at a breath — "where ’s the use of talk- 
ing? He never, never will.” 

"He will if you let him know, ” Daisy answered with 


THe Lowering of the Flag 359 

conviction. Don't you think you can, dear? Give 
me just one word for him — one tiny message that he 
will understand. Only trust him this once — just this 
once! Give him his opportunity — he has never had 
one before, poor boy — and I know, I know, he will 
not throw it away." 

“You don't think he will — ^laugh?" Muriel whis- 
pered. 

“ My dear child, no! Nick does n’t laugh at sacred 
things. " 

Muriel's face was burning in the darkness. She 
covered it with her hands as though it could be seen. 

For a few seconds she sat very still. Then slowly 
but steadily she spoke. 

“Tell him then, Daisy, from me, that ‘Love con- 
quers all things — and we must yield to Love.”’ 


CHAPTER L 


EREBUS 

N ot another word passed between Daisy and 
Muriel upon the subject of that night’s 
confidences. There seemed nothing further to be 
said. Moreover, there was between them a closer 
understanding than words could compass. 

The days that followed passed very peacefully, and 
Daisy began to improve so marvellously in health and 
spirits that both her husband and her guest caught 
at times fleeting glimpses of the old light-hearted 
personality that they had loved in earlier days. 

^^You have done wonders for my wife,” Will said 
one day to Muriel. And though she disclaimed all 
credit, she could not fail to see a very marked improve- 
ment. 

She herself was feeling unaccountably happy in 
those days, as though somewhere deep down in her 
heart a bird had begun to sing. Again and again she 
told herself that she had no cause for gladness; but 
again and yet again that sweet, elusive music filled her 
soul. 

She would have gladly stayed on with Daisy, seeing 
how the latter clung to her, for an indefinite period ; but 
this was not to be. 

Daisy came out on to the verandah one morning 
with a letter in her hand. 

360 


Erebvis 


361 


‘‘My dear,” she said, ‘‘I regret to say that I must 
part with you. I have had a most touching epistle 
from Lady Bassett, describing at length your many 
wasted opportunities, and urging me to return you to 
the fold with all speed. It seems there is to be a 
State Ball at the palace — an immense affair to 
which the Rajah is inviting all the big guns for 
miles around — and Lady Bassett thinks that her 
dear child ought not to miss such a gorgeous occa- 
sion. She seems to think that something of import- 
ance depends upon it, and hints that I should be 
almost criminally selfish to deprive you of such a 
treat as this will be.” 

Muriel lifted a flushed face from a letter of her own. 
‘‘I have heard from Sir Reginald,” she said. “Evi- 
dently she has made him write. I can’t think why, 
for she never wants me when I am with her. I don’t 
see why I should go, do you? After all, I am of age 
and independent. ” 

A very tender smile touched Daisy’s lips. “I 
think you had better go, darling,” she said. 

Muriel opened her eyes wide. “But why ” 

Daisy checked the question half uttered. “I think 
it will be better for you. I never meant to let you stay 
till the rains, so it makes little more than a week’s 
difference. It sounds as if I want to be rid of you, 
does n’t it? But you know it is n’t that. I shall miss 
you horribly, but you have done what you came to do, 
and I shall get on all right now. So I am not going to 
keep you with me any longer. My reasons are not 
Lady Bassett’s reasons, but all the same it would be 
selfish of me to let you stay. Later on perhaps — in the 
winter — you will come and make a long stay; spend 
Christmas with us, and we will have some real fun. 


36 ^: TKe "Way of an Ha^le 

shall we, Will?'' turning to her husband who had just 
appeared. 

He stared for an instant as if he thought he had not 
heard aright, and there was to Muriel something in- 
finitely pathetic in the way his brovm hand touched his 
wife's shoulder as he passed her and made reply. 

''Oh, rather!" he said. "We’ll have a regular 
jollification with as many old friends as we can collect. 
Don't forget. Miss Roscoe! You are booked first and 
foremost, and we shall keep you to it, Daisy and I. " 

Two days later Muriel was on her way back to 
Ghawalkhand. She found the heat of the journey 
almost insupportable. The Plains lay under a burning 
pall of cloud, and at night the rolling thunder was 
incessant. But no rain fell to ease the smothering 
oppression of the atmosphere. 

She almost fainted one evening, but Will was with 
her and she never forgot his kindly ministrations. 

A few hours' journey from Ghawalkhand Sir Regi- 
nald himself met her, and here she parted with Will 
with renewed promises of a future meeting towards the 
end of the year. 

Sir Reginald fussed over her kind-heartedly, hoped 
she had enjoyed herself, thought she looked very thin, 
and declared that his wife was looking forward with 
much pleasure to her return. The State was still 
somewhat unsettled, there had been one or two out- 
rages of late, nothing serious, of course, but the native 
element was restless, and he fancied Lady Bassett was 
nervous. 

She was away at a polo-match when they arrived, 
and Muriel profited by her absence and went straight 
to bed. 

She could have slept for hours had she been per- 


Erebus 


363 


mitted to do so, but Lady Bassett, returning, 
awoke her to receive her welcome. She was charmed 
to have her back, she declared, though shocked to 
see her looking so wan, ''so almost plain, dear child, 
if one may take the liberty of an old friend to tell 
you so.’’ 

Neither the crooked smile that accompanied this 
gentle criticism nor the decidedly grim laugh with 
which it was received, was of a particularly friendly 
nature; but these facts were not extraordinary. 
There had never been the smallest hint of sym- 
pathy between them. 

" I trust you will be looking much better than this 
two nights hence, ” Lady Bassett proceeded in her soft 
accents. "The Rajah’s ball is to be very magnificent, 
quite dazzlingly so from all accounts. Mr. Bobby 
Fraser is of course behind the scenes, and he tells me 
that the preparations in progress are simply gigantic. 
By the way, dear, it is to be hoped that your absence 
has not damaged your prospects in that quarter. I 
have been afraid lately that he was transferring his 
allegiance to the second Egerton girl. I hope earnestly 
that there is nothing in it, for you know how I have 
your happiness at heart, do you not? And it would 
be such an excellent thing for you, dear child, as I ex- 
pect you realise. For you know, you look so much 
older than you actually are that you really ought not 
to throw away any more opportunities. Every girl 
thinks she must have her fling, but you, dear, should 
soberly think of getting settled soon. You would not 
like to get left, I feel sure. ” 

At this point Muriel sat up suddenly, her dark eyes 
very bright, and in brief tones announced that so far 
as she was concerned the second Egerton girl was 


364 


The "Way of an Ha^le 


more than welcome to Mr. Fraser and she hoped, 
if she wanted him, she would manage to keep him. 

It was crudely expressed, as Lady Bassett pointed 
out with a sigh for her waywardness; but Muriel 
always was crude when her deeper feelings were 
disturbed, and physical fatigue had made her irritable. 

She wished ardently that Lady Bassett would leave 
her, but Lady Bassett had not quite done. She lin- 
gered to ask for news of poor little Daisy Musgrave. 
Had she yet fully recovered from the shock of her cou- 
sin’s tragic death? Could she bear to speak of him? 
She, Lady Bassett, had always suspected the existence 
of an unfortunate attachment between them. 

Muriel had no information to bestow upon the sub- 
ject. She hoped and believed that Daisy was getting 
stronger, and had promised, all being well, to spend 
Christmas with her. 

Lady Bassett shook her head over this declaration. 
The dear child was so headlong. Much might happen 
before Christmas. And what of Mr. Ratcliffe — this 
was on her way to the door — had she heard the extra- 
ordinary, the really astounding news concerning him 
that had just reached Lady Bassett’s ears? She asked 
because he and Mrs. Musgrave used to be such friends, 
though to be sure Mr. Ratcliffe seemed to have thrown 
off all his old friends of late. Had Muriel actually not 
heard? 

''Heard! Heard what?” Muriel forced out the 
question from between lips that were white and stiff. 
She was suddenly afraid — horribly, unspeakably afraid. 
But she kept her eyes unflinchingly upon Lady Bas- 
sett’s face. She would sooner die than quail in her 
presence. 

Lady Bassett, holding the door-handle, looked back 


Eret)\as 


365 


at her, faintly smiling. ' ' I wonder you have not heard , 
dear. I thought you were in correspondence with his 
people. But perhaps they also are in the dark. It is 
a most unheard-of thing — quite irrevocable I am told. 
But I always felt that he was a man to do unusual 
things. There was always to my mind something 
uncanny, abnormal, something almost superhuman, 
about him.'’ 

'' But what has happened to him? ” Muriel did not 
know how she uttered the words; they seemed to come 
without her own volition. She was conscious of a 
choking sensation within her as though iron bands 
were tightening about her heart. It beat in leaps 
and bounds like a tortured thing striving to escape. 
But through it all she sat quite motionless, her eyes 
fixed upon Lady Bassett's face, noting its faint, wry 
smile, as the eyes of a prisoner on the rack might note 
the grim lines on the face of the torturer. 

‘‘My dear," Lady Bassett said, “he has gone into 
a Buddhist monastery in Tibet." 

Calmly the words fell through smiling lips. Only 
words! Only words! But with how deadly a thrust 
they pierced the heart of the woman who heard them 
none but herself would ever know. She gave no sign 
of suffering. She only stared wide-eyed before her as 
an image, devoid of expression, inanimate, sphinx- 
like, while that awful constriction grew straiter round 
her heart. 

Lady Bassett was already ttiming to go when the 
deep voice arrested her. 

“Who told you this?" 

She looked back, holding the open door. “I 
scarcely know who first mentioned it. I have heard 
it from so many people, — in fact the news is general 


366 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


property — Captain Gresham of the Guides told me for 
one. He has just gone back to Peshawur. The news 
reached him, I believe, from there. Then there was 
Colonel Cathcart for another. He was talking of it 
only this afternoon at the Club, saying what a deplor- 
able example it was for an Englishman to set. He and 
Mr. Bobby Fraser had quite a hot argument about it. 
Mr. Fraser has such advanced ideas, but I must admit 
that I rather admire the staunch way in which he de- 
fends them. There, dear child ! Y ou must not keep me 
gossiping any longer. You look positively haggard. 
I earnestly hope a good sleep will restore you, for I can- 
not possibly take that wan face to the Rajah's ball. 

Lady Bassett departed with the words, shaking her 
head tolerantly and still smiling. 

But for long after she had gone, Muriel remained 
with fixed eyes and tense muscles, watching, watching, 
dumbly, immovably, despairingly, at the locked door 
of her paradise. 

So this was the key to his silence — the reason that 
her message had gone unanswered. She had stretched 
out her hands to him too late — too late. 

And ever through the barren desert of her vigil a 
man's voice, vital and passionate, rang and echoed in a 
maddening, perpetual refrain. 

^‘All your life you will remember that I was once 
yours to take or to throw away. And — you wanted 
me, yet — you chose to throw me away." 

It was a refrain she had heard often and often before ; 
but it had never tortured her as it tortured her now, — 
now when her last hope was finally quenched — now 
when at last she fully realised what it was that had 
once been hers, and that in her tragic blindness she 
had wantonly cast away. 


CHAPTER LI 


THE BIRD OF PARADISE 

M uriel did not leave the Residency again until 
the evening of the State Ball at the palace. 
Scarcely did she leave her room, pleading intense fa- 
tigue as her excuse for this seclusion. But she could 
not, without exciting remark, absent herself from the 
great function for which ostensibly she had returned 
to Ghawalkhand. 

She wore a dress of unrelieved white for the occasion, 
for she had but recently discarded her mourning for her 
father, and her face was almost as devoid of colour. 
Her dark hair lay in a shadowy mass above her fore- 
head, accentuating her pallor. Her eyes looked out 
upon the world with tragic indifference, unexpectant, 
apathetic. 

“My dear, you don’t look well,” said Sir Reginald, 
as, gorgeous in his glittering uniform, he stood to hand 
her after his wife into the carriage. 

She smiled a little. “It is nothing. I am still 
rather tired, that ’s all. ” 

Driving tlirough the gates she looked forth absently 
and spied the old beggar crouching in his accustomed 
place. He almost prostrated himself at sight of her, 
but she had no money with her, nor could she have 
bestowed any under Lady Bassett’s disapproving eye. 
The carriage rolled on, leaving his obsequiousness 
unrequited. 

367 


368 


XHe "Way of an. liable 


Entering the glittering ballroom all hung with glow- 
ing colours was like entering a garden of splendid 
flowers. European and Indian costumes were mingled 
in shining confusion. A hubbub of music and laughter 
seemed to engulf them like a rushing torrent. 

Ah, here you are at last ! It was Bobby Fraser’s 
voice at Muriel’s side. He looked at her with cheery 
approval. “I say, you know, you’re the queen of 
this gathering. Pity there is n’t a king anywhere 
about. Perhaps there is, eh? Well, can you give me 
a dance? Afraid I have n’t a waltz left. No matter! 
We can sit out. I know a cosy corner exactly fitted 
to my tastes. In fact I ’ve booked it for the evening. 
And I want a talk with you badly. Number five then . 
Good-bye!” 

He was gone, leaving Muriel with the curious im- 
pression that there really was something of importance 
that he wished to say to her. 

She wondered what it was. That he was paying 
her serious attention she had never for a moment be- 
lieved, nor had she given him the faintest encourage- 
ment to do so. She knew that Lady Bassett thought 
otherwise, but she had never rated her opinion very 
highly; and she had never read anything but the most 
casual friendliness in Bobby’s attitude. 

Still it disturbed her somewhat, that hint of inti- 
macy that his words portended, and she awaited the 
dance he had solicited in a state of mind very nearly 
allied to apprehension. Lady Bassett’s suggestions 
had done for her what no self-consciousness would ever 
have accomplished imaided. They had implanted 
within her a deep-rooted misgiving before which all 
ease of manner fled. 

When Bobby Fraser joined her, she was so plainly 


TKe Bird of Paradise 


369 


nervous that he could not fail to remark it. He led 
her to a quiet corner above the garden that was shel- 
tered from the throng by flowering tamarisks. 

I say, ’’ he said, '' I hope you are not letting your- 
self get scared by these infernal hudmashes. The re- 
ports have all been immensely exaggerated as usual. ’’ 
I am not at all scared,'' she told him. But wasn’t 

there an Englishman murdered the other day ? " 

Oh, yes," he admitted, '‘but miles and miles away, 
right the other side of the State. There was nothing 
in that to alarm any one here. It might have hap- 
pened anywhere. People are such fools," he threw 
in vindictively. "Begin to look askance at the native 
population, and of course they are on the qui vive in- 
stantly. It is only to be expected. It was downright 
madness to send a Resident here. They resent it, 
you know. But the Rajah's influence is enormous. 
Nothing could happen here." 

"I wonder," said Muriel. 

She had scarcely given the matter a thought before, 
but it was a relief to find some impersonal topic for 
discussion. 

Bobby, however, had no intention of pursuing it 
further. " Oh, it's self-evident, " he said. "They are 
loyal to the Rajah, and the Rajah is well-known to be 
loyal to the Crown. It 's only these duffers of admin- 
istrators that make the mischief. " He broke into an 
abrupt laugh, and changed the subject. " Let us talk 
of something less exasperating. How did you get on 
while you were away? You must have foimd the 
journey across the Plains pretty ghastly." 

She told him a little about it, incidentally mention- 
ing Will Musgrave. 

"Oh, I know him," he broke in. "An engineer, 


24 


370 


THe of an Ea^le 


isn’t he? Awfully clever chap. I met him years 
ago at Sharapura the time Nick Rat cliff e won the 
Great Mogul’s Cup. I told you that story, did n’t 
I?” 

Yes, he had done so. She informed him of the fact 
with an immovable face. It might have been a 
subject of total indifference to her. 

You know Nick Ratcliffe, don’t you?” he pursued, 
evidently following his own train of thought. 

She flushed at the direct question. She had not 
expected it. ^‘It is a very long time since I last saw 
him, ” she said, with a deliberate effort to banish all 
interest from her voice. 

He was not looking at her. He could not have been 
aware of the flush. Yet he elected to push the matter 
further. 

queer fish,” he said. ^‘A very queer fish. 
He has lost his left arm, poor beggar. Did you 
know?” 

Yes, she knew; but she could hardly summon 
the strength to tell him so. Her fan concealed her 
quivering lips, but the hand that held it shook 
uncontrollably. 

But he, still casual, continued his desultory ha- 
rangue. '‘Always reminds one of a jack-in-the-box — 
that fellow. Has a knack of popping up when you least 
expect him. You never know what he will do next. 
You can only judge him by the things he doesn’t 
do. For instance, there’s been a rumour floating 
about lately that he has just gone into a Tibetan 
monastery. Heaven knows who started it and 
why. But it is absolutely untrue. It is the sort 
of thing that could n’t be true of a man of his tem- 
perament. Don’t you agree with me? Or perhaps 


TKe Bird of Paradise 


371 


you did n’t know him very well, and don’t feel quali- 
fied to judge.” 

At this point he pulled out his programme and 
studied it frowningly. He was plainly not paying 
much attention to her reply. He seemed to be con- 
templating something that worried him. 

It made it all the easier for her to answer. ^^No, ” 
she said slowly. I did n’t know him very well. But 
■ — that rumour was told to me as absolute fact. I — of 
course — I believed it. ” 

She knew that her face was burning as she ended. 
She could feel the blood surging through every vein. 

^Hf you want to know what I think,” said Bobby 
Fraser deliberately, “it is that that rumour was a 
malicious invention of some one’s.” 

“Oh, do you?” she said. “But — but why?” 

He turned and looked at her. His usually merry 
face was stern. “Because,” he said, “it served some 
one’s end to make some one else believe that Nick had 
dropped out for good.” 

Her eyes fell under his direct look. “ I don’t under- 
stand, ” she murmured desperately. 

“Nor do I,” he rejoined, “for certain. I can only 
surmise. It does n’t do to believe things too readily. 
One gets let in that way, ” He rose and offered her 
his arm. “Come outside for a little. This place is 
too warm for comfort.” 

She went with him willingly, thankful to turn her 
face to the night. A dozen questions hovered on her 
lips, but she could not ask him one of them. She could 
only walk beside him and profess to listen to the stream 
of anecdotes which he began to pour forth for her 
entertainment. 

She did not actually hear one of them. They came 


372 


The Way of an Eagle 


to her all jumbled and confused through such a torrent 
of gladness as surely she had never known before. For 
the bird in her heart had lifted its head again, and was 
singing its rapture to the stars. 


CHAPTER LH 


A woman’s offering 

I OOKING back upon the hours that followed that 
talk with Bobby behind the tamarisks, Muriel 
could never recall in detail how they passed. She 
moved in a whirl, all her pulses racing, all her senses 
on the alert. None of her partners had ever seen her 
gay before, but she was gay that night with a spon- 
taneous and wonderful gaiety that came from the 
very heart of her. It was not a gaiety that mani- 
fested itself in words, but it was none the less ap- 
parent to those about her. For her eyes shone as 
though they looked into a radiant future, and she 
danced as one inspired. She was like a statue waked 
to splendid life. 

Swiftly the hours flew by. She scarcely noted their 
passage, any more than she noted the careless talk and 
laughter that hummed around her. She moved in an 
atmosphere of her own to a melody that none other 
heard. 

The ball was wearing to a close when at length Lady 
Bassett summoned her to return. Lady Bassett was 
wearing her most gracious smile. 

‘‘ You have been much admired to-night, dear child,” 
she murmured to the girl, as they passed into the cloak- 
room. 

Muriel’s eyes looked disdainful for an instant, but 
37 ^ 


374 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


they could not remain so. As swiftly the happiness 
flashed back into them. 

have enjoyed myself,” she said simply. 

She threw a gauzy scarf about her neck, and turned 
to go. She did not want her evening spoilt by criti- 
cisms however honeyed. 

The great marble entrance was crowded with de- 
parting guests. She edged her way to one of the pil- 
lars at the head of the long flight of steps, watching 
party after party descend to the waiting carriages. 
The dancing had not yet ceased, and strains of waltz- 
music came to her where she stood, fitful, alluring, 
plaintive. They were playing ‘‘The Blue Danube.” 

She listened to it as one in a dream, and while she 
listened the tears gathered in her eyes. How was it 
she had been so slow to understand? Would she ever 
make it up to him? She wondered how long he meant 
to keep her in suspense. It was not like him to linger 
thus if he had indeed received her message. She 
hoped he would come soon. The waiting was hard to 
bear. 

She called to mind once more the last words he had 
spoken to her. He had said that he would not swoop 
a second time, but she couJ.d not imagine him doing 
anything else. He would be sudden, he would be dis- 
concerting, he would be overwhelming. He would 
come on winged feet in answer to her call, but he would 
give her no quarter. He would neither ask nor de- 
mand. He would simply take. 

She caught her breath and hastened to divert her 
thought, realising that she was on the verge of the old 
torturing process of self-intimidation which had so 
often before unnerved her. 

The throng about her had lessened considerably. 


A W^oman^s Offering 


373 


Glancing downwards, she discerned at the foot of the 
steps the old beggar who so persistently haunted the 
Residency gates, incurring thereby Lady Bassett’s 
alarmed displeasure. He was crouching well to one 
side in the familiar attitude of supplication. There 
were dozens like him in Ghawalkhand, but she knew 
him by the peculiar, gibbering movement of the wiry 
beard that protruded from his chuddah. He was re- 
pulsive, but in a fashion fascinating. He made her 
think of a wizened old monkey who had wandered 
from his kind. 

She had come to regard him almost in the light of a 
protege y and, remembering suddenly that he had be- 
sought an alms of her in vain some hours before, she 
turned impulsively to a man she knew who had just 
come up. 

^‘Colonel Cathcart, will you lend me a rupee? 

He dived in his pocket and brought out a handful 
of money. She found the coin she wanted, thanked 
him with a smile, and began to descend the steps. 

The old native was not looking at her. Something 
else seemed to have caught his attention. For the 
moment he had ceased to cringe and implore. 

She heard Sir Reginald’s voice above her. He was 
standing in talk with the Rajah while he waited for 
his wife. 

And then — she was half-way down the steps when it 
happened — a sudden loud cry rang fiercely up to her, 
arresting her where she stood — a man’s voice inarticu- 
late at first, bursting from mere soimd into furious 
headlong denunciation. 

'‘You infernal hound!” it cried. ‘‘You damned 
assassin!” 

At the same instant the old beggar at the foot of the 


376 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


palace steps sprang panther-like from his crouching 
position to hurl himself bodily at something that 
skulked in the shadows beyond him. 

The marvellous agility of the action, the unerring 
precision with which he pounced upon his prey, above 
all, the voice that had yelled in execration, sent such a 
stab of amazed recognition through Muriel that she 
stood for a second as one petrified. 

But the next instant all her senses were pricked into 
alertness by a revolver-shot. Another came, and yet 
another. They were fighting below like tigers — two 
men in native dress, swaying, straining, struggling, not 
three yards from where she stood. 

She never fully remembered afterwards how she 
came to realise that Nick — Nick himself — was there be- 
fore her in the flesh, fighting like a demon, fighting as 
she had seen him fight once long ago when every nerve 
in her body had been strung to agonised repulsion. 

She felt no repulsion now — ^no shrinking of any sort, 
only a wild anguish of fear for his sake that drove her 
like a mad creature down the intervening steps, that 
sent her flashing between him and his adversary, that 
inspired her to wrench away the smoking revolvei 
from the murderous hand that gripped it. 

She went through those awful moments as a woman 
possessed, blindly obeying the compelling force, 
goaded by sheer, primaeval instinct to protect her own. 
It was but a conflict of seconds, but while it lasted 
she was untrammelled by any doubts or hesitations. 
She was sublimely sure of herself. She was superbly 
unafraid. 

When it was over, when men crowded round and 
dragged her enemy back, when the pressing need was 
past, her courage fell from her like a mantle. She 


/k Woman's Offering 37; 

sank down upon the steps, a trembling, hystericaj 
woman, and began to cry. 

Some one bent over her, some one whispered sooth* 
ing words, some one drew the revolver out of her weak 
grasp. Looking up, she saw the old native Deggar 
upon whom she had thought to bestow her charity. 

‘‘Oh, Nick!” she gasped. “Nick!” And there 
stopped in sudden misgiving. Was this grotesque 
figure indeed Nick? Could it be — this man who had 
sat at the Residency gates for weeks, this man to 
whom she had so often tossed an alms? 

Her brain had begun to reel, but she clung to the 
central idea, as one in deep waters clinging to a spar. 

“Speak to me!” she entreated. “Only speak to 
me!” 

But before he could answer, Bobby Fraser pushed 
suddenly forward, bent over, lifted her. “You are not 
hurt, MissRoscoe?” he questioned anxiously, deep 
concern on his kindly face. “The damned swine 
did n’t touch you? There! Come back into the 
palace. You’re the bravest girl I ever met.” 

He began to help her up the steps, but though she 
was spent and near to fainting she resisted him. 

“That man — ” she faltered. “Don’t — don’t let 
him go!” 

“Certainly not,” said Bobby promptly. “Here, 
you old scarecrow, come and lend a hand!” 

But the old scarecrow apparently had other plans 
for liimself , for he had already vanished from the scene 
as swiftly and noiselessly as a shadow from a sheet. 

“He is gone!” wailed Muriel. “He is gone! Oh, 
why did you let him go?” 

“He’ll turn up again,” said Bobby consolingly. 
“That sort of chap always does. I say, how ghastly 


378 


THe Way of an £la^e 


you look ! Take my arm ! Y ou are not going to faint* 
are you? Ah, here is Colonel Cathcart ! Miss Roscoe 
is n’t hurt, sir — only upset. Can’t we get her back 
to the palace?” 

They bore her back between them, and left her to be 
tended by the women. She was not unconscious, but 
the shock had utterly unstrung her. She lay with 
closed eyes, listening vaguely to the buzz of excited 
comment about her, and wondering, wondering with 
an aching heart, why he had gone. 

No one seemed to know exactly what had taken 
place, and she was too exhausted to tell. Possibly she 
would not have told in any case. It was known only 
that an attempt had been made upon the life of the 
British Resident, Sir Reginald Bassett, and it was 
surmised that Muriel had realised the murderous in- 
tention in time to frustrate it. Certainly a native had 
tried to help her, but since the native had disappeared, 
his share in the conflict was not regarded as very great. 
As a matter of fact, the light had been too uncertain 
and the struggle too confused for even the eye-wit- 
nesses to know with any certainty what had taken 
place. Theories and speculations were many and 
various, but not one of them went near to the truth. 

‘‘Dear Muriel will tell us presently just how it 
happened,” Lady Bassett said in her soft voice. 

But Muriel was as one who heard not. She would 
not even open her eyes till Sir Reginald came to her, 
pillowed her head against him, kissed her white face, 
and called her his brave little girl. 

That moved her at last, awaking in her the old 
piteous hunger, never wholly stifled, for her father. 
She turned and clung to him convulsively with an 
inarticulate murmuring that ended in passionate tears. 


CHAPTER LIII 


THE LAST SKIRMISH 

W HY had he gone? That was the question that 
vexed Muriers soul through the long hours 
that followed her return to the Residency. Lying 
sleepless on her bed, she racked her weary brain for an 
answer to the riddle, but found none. Her brief 
doubt regarding him had long since fled. She knew 
with absolute certainty that it was Nick and no other 
who had yelled those furious words, who had made 
that panther-spring,who had leaned over her and with- 
drawn the revolver from her hold, telling her softly not 
to cry. But why had he gone just then when she 
needed him most? 

Surely by now her message had reached him! Surely 
he knew that she wanted him, that she had lowered 
what he had termed her miserable little rag of pride 
to tell him so I Then why was'Tie tormenting her thus 
’ — playing with her as a cat might play with a mouse? 
Was he taking his revenge for all the bitter scorn she 
had flung at him in the past? Did he think to wring 
from her some more deflnite appeal? Ah, that was it! 
Like a searchlight flashing inwards, she remembered 
her promise to him uttered long ago against her will — 
his answering oath. And she knew that he meant to 
hold her to that promise — that he would exact the 
very uttermost sacriflce that it entailed; and then per- 
379 


TTHe Way of an Ha^le 


"380 

chance — she shivered at the unendurable thought— 
he would laugh his baffling, enigmatical laugh, and 
go his way. 

But this was unbearable, impossible. She would 
sooner die than suffer it. She would sooner — yes, she 
would almost sooner — ^break her promise. 

And then, to save her from distraction, the other 
side of the picture presented itself, that reverse side 
which he had once tauntingly advised her to study. 
If he truly loved her, he would not treat her thus. It 
would not gratify him to see her in the dust. If he 
still cared, as Daisy had assured her he did, it would 
not be his pleasure to make her suffer. But then again 
— oh, torturing question! — had that been so, would he 
have gone at that critical moment, would he have left 
her, when a look, a touch, would have sufficed to 
establish complete understanding? 

Drearily the hours dragged away. The heat was 
great, and just before daybreak a thunder-storm rolled 
up, but spent itself without a drop of rain. It put the 
finishing touches to Muriers restlessness. She rose 
and dressed, to sit by her window with her torturing 
thoughts for company, and awaited the day. 

With the passing of the storm a slight draught that 
was like a shudder moved the scorched leaves of the 
acacias in the compound, quivered a little, and ceased. 
Then came the dawn, revealing mass upon mass of 
piled cloud hanging low over the earth. The breaking 
of the monsoon was drawing very near. There could 
be no lifting of the atmosphere, no relief, until it 
came. 

She leaned her aching head against the window- 
frame in a maze of weariness imutterable. Her heart 
was too heavy for prayer. 


XKe L.ast SKirmisH 


381 


Minutes passed. The daylight grew and swiftly 
overspread all things. The leaden silence began to be 
pierced here and there by the barking of a dog, the 
crowing of a cock, the scolding of a parrot. Some- 
where, either in the compound or close to it, some 
one began to whistle — a soft, tentative whistle, like 
a young blackbird trying its notes. 

Muriel remained motionless, scarcely heeding while 
it wove itself into the background of her thoughts. 
She was in fact hardly aware of it, till suddenly, with a 
great thrill of astonishment that shook her from head 
to foot, a wild suspicion seized her, and she started up, 
listening intently. The fitful notes were resolving 
into a melody — a waltz she knew, alluring, enchanting, 
compelling — the waltz that had filled in the dreadful 
silences on that night long ago when she had fought 
so desperately hard for her freedom and had prevailed 
at last. But stay! Had she prevailed? Had she 
not rather been a captive in spite of it all ever 
since? 

On and on went the haunting waltz-refrain, now 
near, now far, now summoning, now eluding. She 
stood gripping the curtain till she could bear it no 
longer, and then with a great sob she mustered her 
resolution; she stepped out upon the verandah, and 
passed down between shrivelled trailing roses to the 
garden below. 

The tune ceased quite suddenly, and she found her- 
self moving through a silence that could be felt. But 
she would not turn back then. She would not let 
herself be discouraged. She had been frightened so 
often when there had been no need for fear. 

On she pressed to the end of the path till she stood 
by the high fence that bordered the road. She could 


382 


THe "Way of an Ea^le 


see no one. The garden lay absolutely deserted. She 
paused, hesitating, bewildered. 

At the same instant from the other side of the fence, 
almost as if rising from the ground at her feet, a care- 
less voice began to hum — a cracked, tuneless, unmis- 
takable voice, that sent the blood to her heart with a 
force that nearly suffocated her. 

*‘Nick!” she said, almost in a whisper. 

He did not hear her evidently. His humming con- 
tinued with unabated liveliness. 

‘^Nick!’’ she said again. 

Still no result. There was nothing in the least 
dramatic in the situation. It might almost have been 
described as ludicrous, but the white-faced woman in 
the compound did not find it so. 

She waited till he had come to a suitable stop- 
ping place, and then, before he could renew the 
melody, she rapped with nervous force upon the 
fence. 

There fell a most unexpected silence. 

She broke it with words imploring, almost ago- 
nised. ''Nick! Nick! Come and speak to me — for 
Heaven’s sake!” 

His flippant voice greeted her at once in a tone of 
cheerful inquiry. "That you, Muriel?” 

Her agitation began to subside of itself. Nothing 
could have been more casual than his question. "Yes,” 
she said in reply. "Why are you out there? Why 
don’t you come in?” 

" My dear girl, — at this hour ! ” There was shocked 
reproof in the ejaculation. Nick was evidently scan- 
dalised at the suggestion. 

Muriel lost her patience forthwith. Was it for this 
that she had spent all those miserable hours of fruit- 


THe l^ast SKirmisH 383 

less heart-searching? His trifling was worse than ri* 
dictilous. It was insufferable. 

You are to come in at once,” she said, in a tone of 
authority. 

'‘What for?” said Nick. 

"Because — because — ” She hesitated, and stopped, 
her face burning. 

"Because — ” said Nick encouragingly. 

"Oh, don’t be absurd!” she exclaimed in despera- 
tion. " How can I possibly talk to you there?” 

"It depends upon what you want to say,” said 
Nick. "If it is something particularly private — ” 
He paused. 

"Well?” she said. 

"You can always come to me, you know,” he 
pointed out. "But I should n’t do that, if I were you. 
It would be neither dignified nor proper. And a girl 
in your position, dearest Muriel, cannot be too discreet. 
It is the greatest mistake in the world to act upon im- 
pulse. Let me entreat you to do nothing headlong. 
Take another year or so to think things over. There 
are so many nice men to choose from, and this absurd 
infatuation of yours cannot possibly last.” 

"Don’t, Nick!” Muriel’s voice held a curious 
mixture of mirth and sadness. "It — ^it isn’t a bit 
funny to talk like that. It is n’t even particularly 
kind.” 

"Ye gods!” said Nick. "Who wants to be kind?” 

"Not you, evidently,” she told him with a hint of 
bitterness. "You only aim at being intelligent.” 

"Well, you’ll admit I hit the mark sometimes,” 
he rejoined. "I’m like a rat, eh? Clever but 
loathsome.” 

She uttered a quivering laugh. " No, you are much 


384 


THe Way of an Eagle 


more like an eagle, waiting to strike. Why don’t you, 
I wonder, and — and take what you want?” 

Nick’s answering laugh had a mocking note in it. 
^‘Oh, I can play Animal Grab as well as anybody — 
better than most,” he said modestly. ”But I don’t 
chance to regard this as a suitable occasion for dis- 
playing my skill. Uninteresting for you, of course, but 
then you are fond of running away when there is no 
one after you. It ’s been your favourite pastime for 
almost as long as I have known you.” 

The sudden silence with which this airy remark was 
received had in it something tragic. Muriel had sunk 
down on a garden-bench close at hand, lacking the 
strength to go away. It was exactly what she had 
expected. He meant to take his revenge in his own 
peculiar fashion. She had laid herself open to this, 
and mercilessly, unerringly, he had availed himself 
of the opportunity to wound. She might have known! 
She might have known! Had he not done it again 
and again? Oh, she had been a fool — a fool — to call 
him back! 

Through the wild hurry of her thoughts his voice 
pierced once more. It had an odd inflection that was 
curiously like a note of concern. 

say, Muriel, are you crying?” 

” Crying!” She pulled herself together hastily. 
^‘No! Why should I?” 

”I can tell you why you shouldn’t,” he answered 
whimsically. ” No one ever ought to cry before break- 
fast. It’s shocking for the appetite and may ruin the 
complexion for the rest of the day. Besides, — you ’ve 
nothing to cry for. ” 

'' Oh, don’t be absurd ! ” she flung back again almost 
fiercely. ' H ’m not crying ! ’ ’ 


THe Last SKirmisH 


385 


Quite sure?’" said Nick. 

Absolutely certain/* she declared. 

All right then, ** he rejoined. That being so, you 
had better dry your eyes very carefully, for I am 
coming to see for myself/* 


CHAPTER LIV 


SURRENDER 

S HE awaited him still sitting on the bench and 
striving vainly to quiet her thumping heart. 
She heard him come lightly up behind her, but she 
did not turn her head though she had no tears to 
conceal. She was possessed by an insane desire to 
spring up and flee. It took all her resolution to remain 
where she was. 

And so Nick drew near unwelcomed — a lithe, alert 
figure in European attire, bare-headed, eager-faced. 
He was smiling to himself as he came, but when he 
reached her the smile was gone. 

He bent and looked into her white, downcast face; 
then laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

‘‘But Muriel — ” he said. 

And that was all. Yet Muriel suddenly hid her 
face and wept. 

He did not attempt to restrain her. Perhaps he 
realised that tears such as those must have their way. 
But the touch of his hand was in some fashion soothing. 
It stilled the tempest within her, comforting her 
inexplicably. 

She reached up at last, and drew it down between 
her own, holding it fast. 

“I 'm such a fool, Nick,” she whispered shakily. 
‘‘You — ^you must try to bear with me. ” 


Surrender 387 

She felt his fingers close and gradually tighten upon 
her own until their grip was actual pain. 

''Have n’t I borne with you long enough?” he said. 
"Can’t you come to the point?” 

She shook her head slightly. Her trembling had 
not wholly ceased. She was not — even yet she was 
not — wholly sure of him. 

"Afraid?” he questioned. 

And she answered him meekly, with bowed head. 
"Yes, Nick; afraid.” 

"Don’t you think you might look me in the face if 
you tried very hard?” he suggested. 

"No, Nick.” She almost shrank at the bare 
thought. 

"Oh, but you have n’t tried,” he said. 

His voice sounded very close. She knew he was 
bending down. She even fancied she could feel his 
breath upon her neck. 

Her head sank a little lower. "Don’t!" she whis- 
pered, with a sob. 

"What are you afraid of ? ” he said. "You were n’t 
afraid to send me a message. You were n’t afraid 
to save my life last night. What is it frightens 
you?” 

She could not tell him. Only her panic was very 
real. It shook her from head to foot. A fierce struggle 
was going on within her, — ^the last bitter conflict 
between her love and her fear. It tore her in all 
directions. She felt as if it would drive her mad. But 
through it all she still clung desperately to the bony 
hand that grasped her own. It seemed to sustain her, 
to hold her up, through all her chaos of doubt, of 
irresolution, of miserable, overmastering dread. 

"What is it frightens you?” he said again. "Why 


388 


TKe W'ay of an Il^a^le 


won’t you look at me? There is nothing whatever to 
make you afraid!” 

He spoke softly, as though he were addressing a 
scared child. But still she was afraid, afraid of the 
very impulse that urged her, horribly afraid of meeting 
the darting scrutiny of his eyes. 

He waited for a little in silence; then suddenly with 
a sharp sigh he straightened himself. ''You don’t 
know your own mind yet,” he said. "And I can’t 
help you to know it. I had better go. ” 

He would have withdrawn his hand with the words, 
but she held it fast. 

"No, Nick, no! It is n’t that,” she told him 
tremulously. "I know what I want — perfectly welL 
But — but — I can’t put it into words. I can’t! I 
can’t!” 

"Is that it?” said Nick. His manner changed 
completely. He bent down again. She heard the 
old note of banter in his voice, but mingled with it 
was a tenderness so utter that she scarcely recognised 
it. 'Then, my dear girl, in Heaven’s name, don’t 
try! Words were not made for such an occasion as 
this. They are clumsy tools at the best of times. 
You can make me understand without words. 
I ’m horribly intelligent, as you remarked just 
now.” 

Her heart leapt to the rapid assurance. Was it so 
difficult to tell him after all? Surely she could find a 
way! 

The tumult of her emotions swelled to sudden up- 
roar, thunderous, all-possessing, overwhelming, so 
that she gasped and gasped again for breath. And 
ther all in a moment she knew that the conflict was 
over. She was as a diver, hurling with headlong 


Svirrender 


389 


velocity from dizzy height into deep waters, and she 
rejoiced — she exulted — in that mad rush into depth. 

With a quivering laugh she moved. She loosened 
her convulsive clasp upon his hand, turned it upwards, 
and stooping low, she pressed her lips closely, passion- 
ately, lingeringly, upon his open palm. She had 
found a way. 

He started sharply at her action; he almost winced. 
Then, “Muriel!'' he exclaimed in a voice that broke, 
and threw himself on his knees beside her, holding her 
fast in a silence so sudden and so tense that she also 
was awed into a great stillness. 

Yet, after a little, though his face was pressed 
against her so that she could not see it or even vaguely 
guess his mood, she found strength to speak. 

“I can tell you what I want now, Nick,” she 
whispered. “ Shall I tell you? ” 

He did not answer, did not so much as breathe. 
But yet she knew no fear or hesitancy. Her eyes were 
opened, and her tongue loosed. Words came easily 
to her now, more easily than they had ever come 
before. 

“I want to be married — soon, very soon,” she told 
him softly. “And then I want you to take me away 
^with you into Nepal, as you planned ever so long agp. 
And let us be alone together in the mountains — quite 
alone as we were before. Will you, Nick? Will you? '’ 

But again he had no answer for her. He did not 
seem able to reply. His head still lay against her 
shoulder. His arm was still tense about her. She 
fell silent, waiting for him. 

At last he drew a deep breath that seemed to burst 
upwards from the very heart of him, and lifted his 
face with a jerk. 


390 


THe "Way of an Ea^le 


‘‘My God! he said. “Is it true?’’ 

His voice was oddly uneven ; he seemed to produce 
it with difficulty. But having broken the spell that 
bound him, he managed after a moment to continue. 

“Are you quite sure you want to marry me, — quite 
sure that to-morrow you won’t be scared out of your 
wits at the bare idea? Have you left off being afraid 
of me? Do you mean me really to take you at your 
word?’’ 

“ If you will, Nick, ’’ she answered humbly. 

“If I will!’’ he echoed, with sudden passion. “I 
warn you, Muriel, you are putting yourself irrevocably 
in my power, and you will never break away again. 
You may come to loathe me with your whole soul, 
but I shall never let you go. Have you realised that? 
If I take you now, I take you for all time. ’’ 

He spoke almost with violence, and, having spoken, 
drew back from her abruptly, as though he could not 
wholly trust himself. 

But nothing could dismay her now. She had fought 
her last battle, had made the final surrender. Her 
fear was dead. She stretched out her hands to him 
with unfaltering confidence. 

“Take me then, Nick,’’ she said. 

He took the extended hands with quick decision, 
first one and then the other, and laid them on his 
shoulders. 

“Now look at me,’’ he said. 

She hesitated, though not as one afraid. 

“Look at me, Muriel!’’ he insisted. 

Then, as she kept her eyes downcast, he put his 
hand under her chin and compelled her. 

She yielded with a little quivering murmur of 
protest, and so for the first time in her life she deli^ 


Surrender 


391 


berately met his look, encoimtering eyes so wide and 
so piercingly blue that she had a moment’s bewildered 
feeling of uncertainty, as though she had looked into 
the eyes of a stranger. Then the colourless lashes 
descended again and veiled them as of old. He 
blinked with his usual disconcerting rapidity and set 
her free. 

'‘Yes,” he said. "You Ve left off cheating. And 
if you really care to marry me — what’s left of me — 
it’s a precious poor bargain, but — I am yours. ” 

His voice cracked a little. She fancied he was 
going to laugh. And then, while she was still wonder- 
ing, his arm went round her again and drew her 
closely to him. She was conscious of a sudden, 
leaping flame behind the pale lashes, felt his hold 
tighten while the wrinkled face drew near, — and with 
a sob she clasped her arms about his neck and turned 
her lips to his. 


CHAPTER LV 


OMNIA VINCIT AMOR 


“ UNNY, was n’t it?” said Nick, jingling a small 



1 ' handful of coins in front of his Jianc&e. Quite 
a harvest in its way! I had no idea you were so 
charitable. ” 

She caught his wrist. ‘^You have no right to a 
single one of them. You obtained them under false 
pretences. What in the world induced you to do such 
a thing?” 

Nick’s hand closed firmly upon the spoil. *‘It was 
a sheer, heaven-sent inspiration, ” he declared. Care 
to know how it came to me? It happened one night 
in the Indian Ocean when I was on the way out with 
Daisy. I was lying on deck under the stars, thinking 
of you, and the whole idea came to me ready-made, 
I didn’t attempt to shape it; it shaped itself. I was 
hungering for the sight of you, and I knew you would 
never find me out. You never would have, either, if 
I had n’t had Daisy’s message. I was just going to 
quit my lonely vigil when it reached me. But that 
altered my plans, and I decided with Fraser’s assist- 
ance to face it out. You knew he was in the secret, 
of course? He is in every secret, that chap. As soon 
as I heard of Lady Bassett’s ingenious little fiction 
about the Buddhist monastery, I was ready to take 
the war path. But vou were invisible, you know. 


Omnia Vincit Amor 


393 


I had to wait till you emerged. Then came last 
night’s episode, and I had to take to my heels. I 
could n’t face a public exposure, and it would n’t have 
been particularly pleasant for you, either. So now 
you have the whole touching story, and I think you 
need n’t grudge me a rupee and a few annas as a reward 
for my devotion.” 

Muriel laughed rather tremulously. I would have 
given you something better worth having — if I had 
known.” 

'' Never too late, ” said Nick philosophically. You 
can begin at once if you like. Let me have your hand. 
Hold it steady, my dear girl. Remember my limita- 
tions. You won’t refuse any longer to wear my 
ring?” 

'' I will wear it gladly, ” she told him, as he fitted it 
back upon her finger. shall never part with it 
again. ” 

Her eyes were full of tears, but she would not let 
them fall, and Nick was too intent upon what he was 
doing to notice. 

''That imp Olga nearly broke her poor little heart 
when she gave it back to me,” he said. "I think I 
shall have to send her a cable. What shall I say? 
OMNIA VINCIT AMOR? She is old enough to 
know what that means. And if I add, 'From Muriel 
and Nick,’ she will understand. A pity she can’t 
come to our wedding! I ’d sooner have seen her jolly 
little phiz than all Lady Bassett’s wreathed smiles. 
She is sure to smile, you know. She always does when 
she sees me.” He broke off with a hideous grimace. 

"Don’t, Nick!” Muriel’s voice trembled a little. 
"Why does she hate you so?” 

"Can’t imagine,” grinned Nick. "It’s a way 


394 


TKe Way of an Ea^le 


some people have. Perhaps she will end by falling 
in love with me. Who knows ? ’ ’ 

Don’t be horrid, Nick! Why won’t you tell me?’* 
Muriel laid a pleading hand upon his. 

He caught it to his lips. can’t tell you, darling, 
seeing she is a woman. An unpleasant adventure 
befell her once for which I was partially responsible. 
And she has hated me with most unseemly vehemence 
ever since. ” 

A light began to break upon Muriel. ** Was it some- 
thing that happened on board ship?” she hazarded. 

He gave her a sharp look. ‘^Who told you that?” 

She flushed a little. Bobby Fraser. He did n’t 
mention her name, of course. We — we were talking 
about you once. ” 

Nick laughed aloud. ‘‘ Only once? ” 

Her colour deepened. “You are positively ridi- 
culous. Still, I wish it had n’t been Lady Bassett, 
Nick. I don’t like to feel she hates you like that.” 

“It does n’t hurt me in the least,” Nick declared. 
“ Her poison-fang is extracted so far as I am concerned. 
She could only poison me through you. I always 
knew I had her to thank for what happened at Simla.” 

“Oh, but not her alone,” Muriel said quickly. 
“You must n’t blame her only for that. I was pre- 
judiced against you by — other things. ” 

“I know all about it,” said Nick. He was holding 
her hand in his, moving it hither and thither to catch 
the gleam of the rubies upon it. “You were a poor 
little scared rabbit fleeing from a hideous monster of 
destruction. You began to run that last night at 
Wara when I made you drink that filthy draught, and 
you have hardly stopped yet. I don’t suppose it ever 
occurred to you that I would rather have died in tor- 


Omnia Vincit Amor 


395 


merit than have done it.” He broke into a sudden 
laugh. '‘But you need n’t be afraid that I shall ever 
do it again. I can't do much to any one with only one 
arm, can I? You witnessed my futility last night. 
There ’s a grain of comfort in that, eh, darling?” 

“Nick, don’t, don’t!” She turned to him impul- 
sively and laid her cheek against his shoulder. “You 
— you don’t know how you hurt me!” 

“My dear girl, what’s the matter?” said Nick. 
“ I was only trying to draw your attention to my good 
points — such as they are. ” 

“Don’t!” she said again, in a choked voice, “It ’s 
more than I can bear. You would never have lost 
your arm but for me. ” 

“ Oh, rats ! ” said Nick, holding her closely. “ Who- 
ever told you that ” 

“It was Dr. Jim.” 

“Well, Jim’s an ass, and I shall tell him so. There, 
don’t fret, darling. It is n’t worth it. I could wish it 
had n’t happened for your sake, but I don’t care a 
rap for my own. ” 

“You are not to care for mine, ” she whispered. “ I 
shall only love you the better for it. ” 

“Then it will be a blessing to me after all,” said 
Nick cheerily. “Do you know what we are going to 
do as soon as we are married, sweetheart? We are 
going to climb the highest mountain in the world, to 
see the sun rise, and to thank God. ” 

She turned her face upwards with a quivering smile. 
“Let us be married soon then, Nick. ” 

“At once,” said Nick promptly. “Come along 
and tell Sir Reginald. He must be out of bed by this 
time. If he is n’t I think the occasion almost justifies 
us in knocking him up. ” 


39 ^ 


THe Way of an Ha^le 


They found Sir Reginald already upon the verandah, 
drinking his early coffee, and to Muriel’s dismay he 
was not alone. It was later than she had imagined, 
and Colonel Cathcart and Bobby Fraser had both 
dropped in for a gossip, and were seated with him at 
the table smoking. 

As she and Nick approached. Lady Bassett herself 
emerged through an open window behind the three 
men. 

Nick began to chuckle. This was the sort of situa- 
tion that appealed to his sense of humour. He began 
to chant an old-world ditty under his breath with 
appropriate words. 

“ Oh, dear, what will the Bassett say? ” 

Muriel uttered a short, hysterical laugh, and in- 
stantly they were discovered. 

Now what are you going to do?” said Nick. 

''I don’t know,” she responded hurriedly. ‘‘Run 
away, I think.” 

“Not you,” said Nick, grasping her hand very 
firmly. “You are going to face the music with me. ” 

She gave in, half laughing, half protesting, and he 
led her up the steps with considerable pomp. 

She need not have been so painfully embarrassed, 
for every one, with the exception of Bobby Fraser, 
looked at Nick, and Nick only, in speechless amaze- 
ment, as though he had just returned from the dead. 

Nick was sublimely equal to the occasion. He 
came to a standstill by the table, executed an elaborate 
bow in Lady Bassett’s direction, then turned briskly 
to Sir Reginald. 

“After two years’ deliberation,” he announced, 
“ have decided to settle our differences by getting 


Omnia Vincit Amor 397 

married, and we are hoping, sir, that you will bestow 
your blessing upon our union. ” 

''My good fellow!*' gasped Sir Reginald. "This 
is a very great surprise ! *’ 

"Yes, I know,’* said Nick. "It was to me, too. 
But — though fully sensible of my unworthiness — I 
shall do my best to deserve the very high honour that 
has been done me. And I hope we may count upon 
your approval and support.” 

Again his bow included Lady Bassett. There was 
a mocking glint in the glance he threw her. 

She came forward as though in answer to a challenge, 
her face unwontedly flushed. "This is indeed unex- 
pected!” she declared, extending her hand. "How 
do you do. Captain Ratcliff e? You will understand 
otir surprise when I tell you that some one was saying 
only the other day that you had entered a Tibetan 
monastery. ** 

"Some one must have been telling a lie, dear Lady 
' Bassett, ** said Nick. " I am sorry if it caused you any 
uneasiness on my account. I should certainly never 
have taken such a serious step without letting you 
know. I trust that my projected marriage will have a 
less disturbing effect. ** 

Lady Bassett smiled her crooked smile, and raised 
one eyebrow. "Oh, I shall not be anxious on your 
account, ” she assured him playfully. 

"Quite right. Lady Bassett,” broke in Colonel 
Cathcart. "He’ll hold his own, wherever he is. I 
always said so when he was in the Service. ” 

"And a little over probably,” put in Bobby Fraser. 
" Miss Roscoe, if you ever find him hard to manage, 
you send for me. ” 

Muriel, from the shelter of Sir Reginald’s arm, 


39® The 'Way of an Ea^le 

looked across at the speaker with a smile of unwonted 
confidence. 

Thank you all the same,” she responded, ‘‘but 
I don’t expect any difficulties in that respect. ” 

“She is far more likely to fight my battles for me,” 
remarked Nick complacently, “seeing my own fighting 
days are over. ” 

“And what have you been doing with yourself all 
this time?” demanded Sir Reginald suddenly. “You 
have been singularly unobtrusive. What have you 
been doing?” 

Nick’s answering grin was one of sheer exuberance 
of spirit. “I ’ve just been marking time, sir, that’s 
all,” he replied enigmatically. “A monotonous busi- 
ness for every one concerned, but it seems to have 
served its purpose. ” 

Sir Reginald grunted a little, and looked uncom- 
fortably at his wife’s twisted smile. “And now you 
want to get married, do you?” he said. 

“At once,” said Nick. 

“Well, well,” said Sir Reginald, beginning to smile 
himself. “All’s well that ends well, and Muriel is old 
enough to please herself. Mind you are good to her, 
that’s all. And I wish you both every happiness.” 

“So do I,” said Bobby Fraser heartily. “And 
look here, you jack-in-the-box, if you’re wanting a 
best man to push you through, I ’ll undertake the 
job. It ’s a capacity in which I have often made my- 
self useful. ” 

“Right O!” laughed Nick. “But you won’t find 
I want much pushing, old chap. I ’m on my way to 
the top crag of Everest already. ” 

“Ah, Captain Ratcliffe, be careful!” murmured 
Lady Bassett. “ Do not soar too high!” 


Omnia Vincit -Amor 


399 


‘'He bowed to her a third time, still with his baffling 
smile. ‘'Thanks, dear Lady Bassett!” he said lightly, 
“But you need have no misgivings. Forewarned is 
forearmed, they say. And on this occasion, at least, I 
am wise — ^in time. ” 

'"‘And dear Muriel too, I wonder?” smiled Lady 
Bassett. 

“And dear Muriel too, ” smiled Nicke 


CHAPTER LVI 


THE EAGLE SOARS 

N ight and a running stream — a soft gurgle of 
sound that was like a lullaby. Within the tent 
the quiet breathing of a man asleep; standing in the 
entrance — a woman. 

There was a faint quiver in the air as of something 
coming from afar, a hushed expectancy of something 
great. A chill breath came off the snows, hovering 
secretly above the ice-cold water. The stars glittered 
like loose-hung jewels upon a sable robe. 

Ah, that flash as of a sword across the sky! A 
meteor had fallen among the mountains. It was 
almost like a signal in the heavens — herald of the 
coming wonder of the dawn. 

Softly the watcher turned inwards, and at once a 
gay, cracked voice spoke out of the darkness. 

Hullo, darling! Up and watching already! Ye 
gods ! What a sky ! Why did n ’t you wake me sooner? 
Have I time for a plunge?’’ 

Perhaps — ^if you will let me help you dress after 
it. Certainly not otherwise. ” The deep voice had in 
it a tremulous note that was like a caress. The speaker 
was looking into the shadows. The glory without no 
longer held her. 

*‘A11 right then, you shall — ^just for a treat. Per- 
haps you would like to shave me as well?” 


The Ha^le Soars 


401 


Shave you!” There was scorn this time in the 
answering voice. You could n’t grow a single hair if 
you tried!” 

“True, 0 Queen! I couldn’t. And the few I was 
born with are invisible. Hence my failure to distin- 
guish myself in the Army. It is to be hoped the de- 
ficiency will not blight my Parliamentary career also 
— always supposing I get there.” 

“Ah, but you did distinguish yourself. I heard — 
once” — the words came with slight hesitation — “that 
you ought to have had the V. C. after the Wara 
expedition, — only you refused it. ” 

“I wonder what gas-bag let that out,” commented 
Nick. “You should n’t believe all you hear, you know. 
Now, darling, I ’m ready for the plunge, and I must 
look sharp about it too. Do you mind rummaging 
out a towel?” 

^*But, Nick, was it true?” 

“What? The V. C. episode? Oh, I suppose so, 
more or less. I did n’t want to be decorated for running 
away, you see. It did n’t seem exactly suitable. Be- 
sides, I did n’t do it for that. ” 

“Nick, do you know you make me feel more con- 
temptible every day?” There was an unmistakable 
quiver of distress in the words. 

“My own girl, don’t be a goose!” came the light 
response. “You don’t honestly suppose I could ever 
regret anything now, do you? Why, it ’s a lost 
faculty. ” 

He stepped from the tent, clad loosely in a bath- 
sheet, and bestowed a kiss upon his wife’s downcast 
face in passing. “Look here, sweetheart, if you cry 
while I ’m in the water, I ’ll beat you directly I come 
out. That’s a promise, not a threat. And by the 

26 


402 


THe "Way of an Ela^le 

way, I ’ ve got something good to tell you presently ; 
so keep your heart up. 

He laughed at her and went his way, humming 
tunelessly after his own peculiarly volatile fashion. 
She listened to his singing, as he splashed in the stream 
below, as though it were the sweetest music on earth ; 
and she knew that he had spoken the truth. Whatever 
sacrifices he had made in the past, regret was a thing 
impossible to him now. 

By the time he joined her again, she had driven 
away her own. The sky was changing mysteri- 
ously. The purple depth was lightening, the stars 
receding. 

‘‘We must hurry,’’ said Nick. ‘‘The gods won’t 
wait for us. ” 

But they were ready first after all, and the morning 
foimd them high up the mountainside with their 
faces to the east. 

Sudden and splendid, the sun flashed up over the 
edge of the world, and the snow of the moxmtain- 
crests shone in roselit glory for a few magic seconds, 
then shimmered to gold — glittering as the peaks of 
Paradise. 

They did not speak at all, for the ground beneath 
their feet was holy, and all things that called for 
speech were left behind. Only as dawn became day — 
as the sun-god mounted triumphant above the waiting 
earth — the man’s arm tightened about the woman, 
and his flickering eyes grew steadfast and reverent 
as the eyes of one who sees a vision. . . . 

“ ‘ Prophet and priestess we came — back from the 
dawning, ’ ” quoted Nick, under his breath. 

Muriel uttered a long, long sigh, and turned hei 
face against her husband’s shoulder. 


XKe Ha^le Soars 


403 


His Kps were on her forehead for a moment; the 
next he was peering into her face with his usual cheery 
grin. 

^^Care to hear my piece of news?’’ he questioned. 

She looked at him eagerly. ‘*0h, Nick, not the 
mail!” 

He nodded. ^‘Runner came in late last night. 
You were asleep and dreaming of me. I had n’t the 
heart to wake you. ” 

She laughed and blushed. ^‘As if I should! Do 
you really imagine that I never think of any one else? 
But go on. What news? ” 

He pulled out two letters. ‘‘One from Olga, full of 
adoration, bless her funny heart, and containing also a 
rude message from Jim to the effect that Redlands is 
going to rack and ruin for want of a tenant while we 
are philandering on the outside edge of civilisation 
doing no good to anybody. No good indeed! I ’ll 
punch his head for that some day. But I suppose we 
really ought to be thinking of Home before long, eh, 
sweetheart?” 

She assented with a smile and a sigh. “I am sure 
we ought. Dr. Jim is quite right. We must come 
back to earth again, my eagle and I. ” 

Nick kissed her hair. “It’s been a gorgeous flight 
has n’t it? We ’ll do it again — heaps of times — before 
we die.” 

“If nothing happens to prevent,” said Muriel. 

He frowned. “What do you say that for? Are 
you trying to be like Lady Bassett? Because it’s a 
vain aspiration, so you may as well give it up at the 
outset. ” 

“Nick, how absurd you are!” There was a slight 
break in the words. “ I — I had almost forgotten there 


404 


The Way of an Ha^le 


was such a person. No, I said it because — because-- 
well, anything might happen, you know.'* 

‘‘Such as?'* said Nick. 

“Anything," she repeated almost inaudibly. 

Nick pondered this for a moment. “ Is it a riddle? '* 
he asked. 

She did not answer him. Her face was hidden. 

He waited a little. Then, “I shall begin to guess 
directly," he said. 

She uttered a muffled laugh, and clung to him with 
a sudden, passionate closeness. “Nick, you — you 
humbug ! Y ou know ! ' ' 

Nick tossed his letters on the ground and held her 
fast. “My precious girl, you gave the show away not 
ten seconds ago by that blush of yours. There ! Don't 
be so absurdly shy! You can't be shy with me. Look 
at me, sweet. Look up and tell me it 's true 1 " 

She turned her face upwards, quivering all over, yet 
laughing tremulously. “Yes, Nick, really, really!" 
she told him. “ Oh, my darling, are you glad? " 

“Am I glad?" said Nick, and laughed at her softly. 
“I'm the happiest man on earth. I shall go Home 
now without a pang, and so will you. We have got 
to feather the nest, you know. That '11 be fim, eh, 
sweetheart? " 

Her eyes answered him more convincingly than 
any words. They seemed to have caught some of the 
sunshine that made the world aroimd them so glorious. 

Some time elapsed before she remembered the 
neglected correspondence. Time was of no account 
up there among the mountains. 

“ The other letter, Nick, you did n't tell me about it. 
I fancied you might have heard from Will Musgrave. " 

“So I have," said Nick. “You had better read it* 


The Eagle Soars 


405 


There’s a line for you inside. It’s all right. Daisy 
has got a little girl, both doing splendidly; Daisy very 
happy, Will nearly off his head with joy. ” 

Muriel was already deep in Will’s ecstatic letter. 
She read it with smiling lips and tearful eyes. At the 
end in pencil she found the line that was for her. 

“ Tell Muriel that all ’s well with me, and I want you 
both for Christmas. — Daisy.” 

Muriel looked up. ‘‘I promised to spend Christ- 
mas with them, Nick.” 

Nick smiled upon her quizzically. '*By a strange 
coincidence, darling, so did I. I should think under 
the circumstances we might go together, should n’t 
you?” 

She drew his hand to her cheek. ^*We will go to 
them for Christmas then. And after that straight 
Home. Tell Dr. Jim when you write. But — Nick — 
I think we should like to feather the nest all ourselves, 
don’t you?” 

''Why, rather!” said Nick. "We’ll do it together 
— just you and I. ” 

"Just you and I, ” she repeated softly. 

Later, hand in hand, they looked across the valley 
to the shining crags that glistened spear-like in the 
sun. 

A great silence lay around them — a peace unspeak- 
able — that those silver crests lifted into the splendour 
of Infinity. 

They stood alone together — above the world — 
with their faces to the mountains. 

And thus standing with the woman he loved. Nick 


4o6 


XKe of an £^a^le 


spoke, briefly — ^it seemed lightly — yet with a certain 
tremor in his voice. 

Horses,” he said — ^‘and chariots — of fire!” 

And Muriel looked at him with meiAory and under* 
standing in her eyes. 





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